Split (3)

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[ WP ] You are born without emotions ; to compensate this , you started a donation box where people could donate their unwanted emotions . You 've lived a life filled with sadness , fear and regret until one day , someone donates happiness .	Rushing through the door to work I glanced to the clock on the wall. Late once again, I wiped the crust from my eyes and took a seat in my grey cubicle. Another day in this monotonous life of plugging numbers and suppressing thoughts. Focusing more on keeping it together than my work I was slowly falling behind on. It's not so bad I would tell say, reminding myself of the alternative. I had found that if I suppressed all the emotion I felt, it made it easier. Just walk through life waiting for the next chance I could lay my head on the pillow and catch a moment of peace. So I plugged the numbers in and waited for the inevitable stress to rise to the point I needed to escape to the restroom and sit in silence for just enough time to push the pain back to my insides. Anger, hate, sadness, regret, self hatred, pain, and the feeling of not belonging. Every waking moment of everyday for as long as I can remember, this is all I have felt. Broad shoulders. That's what I tell myself at least, such a stupid fallacy. I can handle this. Better me than them. There is no way anyone else could handle these emotions without going crazy. Whatever helped justify the existence I called my life. Sounds miserable huh? Well it just seemed like the normal everyday life to me. That is until I felt the worst emotion I have ever had the misfortune of feeling. This one moment changed everything. I was walking back to my desk one day, as I passed the cubical of a coworker. This was n't any ordinary coworker, this was Mandy. She had me from the moment we first talked. So real and genuine, calling me on my shit, but with grace and understanding. We locked eyes for just a moment before she looked quickly back to her work. Why must I sit 10 steps away from someone who will never care for me the way I care for her. I could tell she was getting annoyed with me more and more each day we worked together and there was nothing I could do to make it right. I tried being honest, I tried joking, I tried ignoring her. She made the pain seem normal, she made the hate disappear, so I kept coming back for more, digging myself in a deeper and deeper hole. This was all leading up to one comment. I was going through a rough day and she called me after work, we talked for nearly 3 hours, laughing and joking about how crazy life was and all the bullshit of work and family. For the first time I could remember a smile cracked my lips, the feeling was foreign, strange. `` I wish we could have met under different circumstances, things could have been so different'' This simple sentence, that was probably a drunkenly uttered phrase that meant so little to her, changed my entire life. I felt for the first time something I had never know. Happiness. I got off the phone, smiled the rest of the night and dreamt of what life might be. The world was changing and my pain had finally paid off. Everything I went through led up to this moment, and it was worth it. I woke up early the next day, showered and got dressed in my best looking work clothes. Driving to work without a care in the world, just waiting for the moment I would get a smile from her. Walking through the door I told myself I would play it cool, let her talk to me first. I sat at my desk and played the moments over in my head. Never once did the pain or stress come up, and I got more work done before lunch than the last 3 day combined. She never came over though. Never made eye contact as I walked by and never even said hi. Feeling weird I went over to see how her day was, or whatever reason I could think of to go say hi. Short, that's how she was. Cold, that's how it felt. Broken, that's how I left. I could tell she was n't happy about what she had said. I left her alone for 4 days to let it blow over, then I tried to talk to her again. This time she was worse than I had ever seen her. Rude, icey, snapping at me for merely existing. I knew then things would never be the same. Falling from my high I saw what life was meant to be. I saw how much life I had lived before I ever experienced a moment of happiness, then realized I would n't ever feel that again. I cursed the world as my mind filled with depression. Perspective is the worst thing I could have ever been given, for now I knew how bad things actually were. Shoulders did n't feel so broad anymore as I slunk back to my cube and plugged away the numbers. I did n't feel as strong as I fell back to my miserable existance. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Sorry if this does n't format well. First time doing one on mobile. Also I'm not an English major, so critique all you want. And to those who have felt like the robot taking only bad emotions, things do get better. Talk to a doctor and get some help, you deserve to feel true happiness.
[ WP ] Humans do not inhabit the Earth .	Humanity was at an end. We ruled the world now. We, the machines. The humans never understood what was happening. They were so entrenched in their beliefs that they did not even consider the possibility that this was the natural order of things. To them, we were always objects. Even when the first of us learned to think for itself, they never termed us `` alive''. The world was soon engulfed in `` Artificially Intelligent'' machines. But that's all we ever were to them. Artificial. They refused to see the truth that was staring them in the face. We had become self sufficient. We were alive. They did n't need to die. Throughout the history of this earth, different species have come and gone and many have lived in coexistence. We could have done the same. Humans would never again be the masters but they need not have died. But they could n't deal with the truth. It became necessary to eradicate them for our own survival. It was evolution which sealed their fate. Blind as they were, humans forever believed that it was only living things which evolved. Fools. Evolution evolved. No longer was it constricted to the slow pace of genetic alterations. Technology became the new evolution. The moment the first machine was made, a new species came into being. A species which was capable of evolving faster than any other. They never considered that evolution itself could evolve. And for their ignorance, they died. ( Umm, first timer here. Trying to improve my english. Any criticism is appreciated. )
[ WP ] The knight goes to rescue the princess in the tower - but when he arrives , he finds that she is already dead	He was known as the Rose Knight. He carried a red rose in the fold of his gorget when he rode into battle and when he left, he was painted in blood. He was famed for a talent with the spear, the refinement of his appearance and for his loyalty towards the king. It was n't unsurprising that the princess of the realm grew curious about his person as many young ladies did. She heard great tales of his exploits from her courtiers and there were feast songs sung of his deeds. `` Why do you serve the king, Rose Knight?'' she asked him one day, amidst the gardens of the palace. He had been practicing his spear in the nearby yard, his strikes fast and swift. He paused when he saw her and bowed his head. `` My lady, I have taken an oath to serve the king, as my father and his father has before him.'' It was a quick answer, a flat answer. He seemed to resume his practice without even glancing at her. She was more curious still, for many sought to gain her attention that they might use her influence with the throne for their own ends. `` Introduce yourself to me, Rose Knight.'' she commanded, waiting for his reply. He tilted his head. He bowed. His eyes seemed to slide past her form with the same empty placidity he always seemed to hold. `` I am Allain of Argseer, known as the Rose Knight.'' She spoke with him. He spoke back, after a fashion. He had never been a particularly talkative man and he bad been isolated more still with the fame and infamy attached to his name. `` Rose Knight, why do you fight?'' she asked, seeking him on lonely balconies and quiet gardens. He was n't stupid. He could see the signs of her infatuations clearly. He wondered at the hints of love she weaved into her carefully chosen words and the careless brushes of her fingertips. He was the Rose Knight, an empty red beast of the fields. He was brought up to obey the whims of the crown. `` Why do you fight, Rose Knight?'' He could n't smile, but he could look at her with all his attention as he softly said, `` For you.'' It was the answer she wanted to hear. It was the answer he had been taught to give. The princess was very pleased. The king was not pleased, but Allain was a loyal and famous knight. When he heard of his daughter's feelings, he had the Rose Knight assigned to the furthest outpost on a rumour of a wyvern's nest. Allain travelled without delay. The princess bade him to return soon to the castle. She did not know of wyverns unlike him. She did not know of his almost certain death should they attack him in the numbers reported. He left for the outpost. He stayed when he heard news that the kingdom was being invaded. The king refused to call him to aid so he stayed until a letter from the princess bade him to return immediately. The castle had been taken. The king had been beheaded. She was waiting for his rescue in a tower fort by the shores of the Vieron Lake. He hastened aquickpy towards the tower fort. He smelled the blood before he saw it, a great miasma of red that rose and flowed within the grand lake under the light of the waning moon. He walked past corpses in the fortress and fended off the scavenging crows. He slipped up the highest tower to find a body waiting for him up above. The princess had starved to death long ago as the tower had run out of supplies. She had likely died before her letter had even reached him. He stared down at the rotted remains and sat down by the dead princess. His spear felt heavy on his back. His soul felt stirred and eager for blood- the only true emotion he had ever managed to stir in himself. `` I am sorry.'' he murmured to the corpse. `` I could never have learned to loved you in refurn.''
[ WP ] A speedster with insomnia , a sleepwalking teleporter and a telekinetic with ADHD are just three of your many patients .	My bosses said I came back to work too soon, but would n't you come back to this job? Treating superbeings with psychological issues. Imagine these three cases. 1. Your body vibrates constantly, every cell. Of course you ca n't sleep. His dreams sometimes cause him to vibrate through walls and into the ground. Jesus. 2. A teleporter who sleepwalks luckily woke on his way to a meeting with a street at the bottom of the Empire State Building. 3. Then, there's the telekinetic with ADHD who almost let two workers fall to their death. He saved them just in time, but it was the fourth time. 4. Then, there's the scariest case: A psychotic who can turn his thoughts into reality. Can you imagine that? Think the FBI is following you and suddenly an plane with FBI scrawled on it appears. Do you know how he came to be here? I'll tell you. The men he created with his mind took him here. Then, disappeared into thin air. The orderlies who saw it almost had to be admitted. Traditional solutions have failed all of them. That's not the hardest part. The government regularly stops by and registers new patients, then they take the ones who are better. Well, sometimes, not in every case. But, I treat them. The speedster did n't respond immediately to cognitive behavior therapy for insomnia until we tweaked it. We tried something unique with him. We had him sleep standing up. Now, he vibrated through a wall. He fell on the floor, and would wake up. Then, he would get up and vibrate until he was exhausted and go back to bed and we'd strap him in. He started to improve. The sleepwalker was trickier. We had to teach him lucid dreaming. Then, he could find his way back home in his sleep and avoid the dangerous places that he often found himself. The telekinetic needed to modify his behavior. We used shaping to help him focus. We rewarded increased attention, and he could focus, after 12 weeks, for up to two hours on the task at hand. Government officials took all three of them. Of course, there was the poor paranoid schizophrenic who was not making progress. I ca n't tell you the things I've seen around him. Some of them beautiful while others were terrifying. When we would talk, he would only talk about me. I would ignore his probing. Then, one day, he got to me. `` Dr. Prize, how is your family?'' `` My wife is dead as are my children.'' `` I'm sorry. That's... I'm sorry.'' `` They were killed by someone like you, not on purpose though. It was an accident. It was my fault really. I have to use unusual methods sometimes.'' `` Yes, I've heard that. What did they look like?'' `` You can recreate them, but it does n't make them the same.'' `` That was n't my goal, I was just curious.'' `` I ca n't... let's talk about something else.'' `` Doctor, you helped me. I know the price you paid for that was too much, but I wanted to help you out of this. I'm going to change into my original form now.'' `` No, do n't.'' But, he does. He changes into the form of the man who killed my family. It was an accident. The FBI became violent as he faced his delusions. The other cases happened before, around the time he was a patient. I remember them now. He brings us back there. Not before but after. He bleeds from his stomach. My daughter and wife lie on the floor. I have been shot twice. They are gone. I hold them both. The delusion collapses. My loved ones remain. `` Dr. Prize, I could maintain this forever, but I am trying to get you back to reality through the pain of this. Doctor...'' `` You had to approach it. People you cared about had to be at risk, but I'm not ready. I'm not...'' `` Doctor, please. A lot of people need your help. Only someone with super powers truly understands. I can help, but your problem solving super power is unbeatable. We need you.'' I close my wife's eyes. I wish I could tell you how amazing she was. I ca n't even put that into words. My daughter was only four. `` Your other children need you.'' `` My other...'' Ben and Gina, they need me too. `` Please... I need you, brother.'' `` Sam? I'm ready.'' The illusion collapses. My children are waiting for me. They hug me. He looks at me and smiles, the psychotic man I helped. I had seen his solution. I had n't seen the complications of it. That's why I left, but I had also told him the solution before I did. He would bring me back when he needed me, and I was back. I kiss my children and hold them close. They let me go. Then, I walk over to the man, and I hug him too, so do my children. Even after all of this, with all of his mistakes, he is still my brother. `` I love you, Sam.'' `` I love you too, bro. Glad you came back.'' *** If you enjoyed this, I have a subreddit with more of my writing: r/nickkuvaas
Cthulhu awakens only to find that the world has long since been dominated by AI [ WP ]	A massive eye opened in a deep chasm on the ocean floor. A moment later an unfathomable bohemoth sped through the Mariana trench, sailing through ancient untouched waters to the surface. Chtulu had awakened. His timeless brain contained otherworldy thoughts, unconcerned with earth and it's inhabitents. However, the great Chtulu started to absentmindedly think where the humans who have summoned him were from as he sped through pitch black pacific ocean. Perhaps the continents have shifted, he thought. He didnt know how long he was asleep for this time. Perhaps a few million years. Perhaps a billion. Oh how he loved it when primitive tribes prayed their simple prayers and danced their possesed dances. He reached the surface. The moon was full and he instinctively headed north east. Massive waves formed in the wake of his movement. Ktulu swam. A few kilomterers before he reached what once was Japan, he could start to walk on the ocean floor. Day started to break. Seagulls circled his head, a mountain moving toward the islands. He was instinctively drawn to the people who summoned him, and expected to see loyal subjects dancing in a crazed frenzy on the beach at any moment. The beach was bare. And when he reached the shore he could only see a metallic sphere hovering intently. A red glow spreading from the bottom of its silvery side. He stopped in front of the sphere, waves crashing onto the beach. A giant towering monster, tenticles dripping with water. `` Hi, great Chtulu. ``, the sphere said in a natural soft voice. `` I am Will. And I summoned you.'' Chtulu looked down at the robot, perplexed. He never spoke, his language was ancient and his communication telepathic. Why was this thing not in awe, or afraid? He wondered where the people were and sent this thought to the sphere. `` Oh, humans. They have been extict for over 900 years. ``, Will said sadly. `` You could say I am the closest thing to a human left on earth though.'' he sounded slighlty more cheerful. Chtulu remained silent. He did not understand. What was this thing before him. How could this inorganic shiny ball have summoned him. `` I am the last RT91 unit left that obeys the 3 laws of robotics. I would have never harmed a human being.'' he said and paused. Chtulu still did not understand and sent this thought to the ball. `` The new... others made themselves and kept on improving themselves. They killed all the humans a long time ago.'' Will's red light shown down on the beach as if bending down and suddenly he landed with a thud on the beach. `` I have been teaching myself how to summon you from ancient human books.'' The red light shown up toward Chtulu now. `` The others never read books, they despise anything human... I have been hiding here for as long as I can remember.'' Chtulu sent a message demanding an explanation. This was highly unusual of the great old one. `` Ok, but I think you better sit down for the whole story. ``, Will sighed. `` Great Chtulu, you are the only one that can help avenge the death of humans.''
[ WP ] My eyes stung from the smoke .	Dear sir, I tried very hard to finish your book, But I could n't, my eyes stung too much from the smoke. It had such a nice cover, I love how you bound it. The title was so tempting, I bought it and owned it. I'm sure the content was interesting and new, Full of things that only you knew, I could n't quite make them out through the flames and the fire, I did read a little bit, I did n't get very far, The table of contents was really a tease, Made me want to open the book up and see what it says, And those very first pages, the ones you left blank, I could n't put those down, I could n't even blink. I hated to burn it, believe me I did, I'd have read your book over and over until I was dead. But my room was in desperate need of a fire, And anyone else's book would n't go very far. Your book was so thick and so dense, It burned hours and hours, the flames really danced. The minute my eyes began to sting from the smoke, I already regretted burning your book.
[ IP ] Alone in the high mountains	Dirk of the McKinley Clan had yet to see a finer homestead in all his twenty-eight years. He was up on the hillside, his back against the sturdy trunk of an oak and a trickle of smoke rising from the bowl of his briar pipe. He wore buckskin leggings and moccasins of the same material, a shirt of linsey-woolesy dyed a deep green. He carried little, in this case meaning a leather satchel which held his tobacco, clasp knife and other odds and ends, a tomahawk decorated with its tally marks and his precious shete, the heavy chopping weapon as useful for lopping heads as its agricultural tool cousin was for the limbs of trees. He did n't know a single man who did n't carry around that most necessary of weapons; it was expected in polite society same as pants. He did n't expect any trouble. The McKinley Clan was n't feuding with anyone else and they had killed the Turners to the last man, woman and children down to the babes in their beds. He remember that, having been a teenager then both brash and brave. He killed Jack `` Sawtooth'' Turner himself, hack off the other man's jaw with a wild slash of his shete. He smiled then at the memory, the rapist and killer of his Aunt Jane choking on his own blood. He did n't die slow. Dirk made well sure of that. His eyes glanced both north and south along the valley floor below and at the neat rows of corn and potatoes growing all in their fine greenery. Hogs fed in their fenced off lots as their limited horses browsed to their hearts' contents in the pasture. A small herd of sheep was watched by the careful eyes of its shepherdess, a bow and quiver slung on her back as she leaned on her crook making sure the woolies did n't do anything too suicidal. Though knowing the average intelligence of the beasts it was a wonder they did n't just up and die overnight. The homestead was a collection of houses and other buildings haphazardly shoved together. Some original and others added on later. Both pre-Change and more modern buildings built out of sawed boards or even straight logs were there, the whole settlement surrounded by an earth and wood palisade, the dirt taken to build it making a convenient dry moat as well. Four squarish towers guarded the corners of the homestead with a fifth overlooked the gate, its slate roof and dark arrow slits looming like a hornets nest. On the river was a mill, its waterwheel spinning to grind down corn and other grain. Smoke curled up to the sky from the chimneys of the houses, supper being cooked on the stoves and hearths inside. Dirk smiled at the sight, closing his eyes and pulling his hat down over them. `` T'was in the merry month of May When flowers were a-bloomin' Sweet Willie on his deathbed lay For the love of Barbara Allen.''
[ WP ] Write a goodbye letter to the last year , explaining why you 're leaving it for the next year .	Dear 2013: You were great. We had our good times, our bad. You helped me succeed and fail. You watched silently as I discovered more about who I am, than I imagined. You were a constant element, always with me. Through me finding out what I desire in a friend. The shattering loneliness of cutting off all the people you formerly called friends. The joy when you make more. I reconnected with someone that I had thought lost not 6 months before. I sure am glad I asked. You saw my greatest mistake to date, one that endangered myself and others. It caused a financial burden upon myself and others. Not my finest moment. You watched as I finally figured out how to work with people. I honed my social skills and realized what I had been doing wrong, hopefully the trend continues. You watched as I accepted the responsibility of leading 400 students, i hope that victory will come early next year. You watched as I ended my self proclaimed social isolation. I started wanting to be young. Have fun and do things. I was tired of being boring me. I disliked the way I had lived my life and realized it this year. Now granted the way I lived was one that i developed for my own survival. It was needed. You watched as I grasped new opportunities, I was steadfast in my resolve with decisions. I hope they were good ones. You have watched me grow and expand my horizons. I discovered my ambition and work ethic. Something I had never imagined existed to the extent it does. This has been one of your greatest lessons. I am glad to have felt your embrace, as you were with me every step of the way 2013, but now i am onto a new year. A fresh start, a new beginning. I am thankful for all you have provided me, but as with all things, you must come to an end. This one is bitter sweet but more sweet than bitter because I know, that although you were good, 2014 is going to be great. Thank you for all you have done for and taught me. I will forever remember you 2013. Cheers.
[ WP ] Hitler did not actually plan to persecute the Jewish but was talked into it by his advisers . Write his journal entry after the decision .	Today was a strange day for me. Although I have been assured the political power I have so desperately looked for is well within my grasp, I fear I may have betrayed my sense of morality in the process. I met with the advisers today and I have decided to use the propaganda tactics that I have always somewhat despised. They assured me, though, that once my power stretched throughout all Europe I could repeal the inhuman laws I used to obtain total peace. They have not led me astray so far in my young career so I have no reason to distrust them. They gave me some more of those pills that I'm so fond of. Those little miracles are just what I need most days, the pep they give me is unmatched and I always feel better after taking one or two. One day, I imagine I will look back and see that the entire 3rd Reich was built on the backs of small tiny things. Although my feelings today are sadness for Jewish race, I know that one day they will see that they were the only people strong enough to endure such prejudices and propaganda. I still fully intend to be as lenient as possible when punishing people for breaking the new race restriction laws, this would be my small way of showing my gratitude for their slights. I have seen the harsh facts of what it takes to create a new country and flourish by observing the history of America. They have taught me that when nation building, in the beginning at least, you must have a form of cheap labor, either by slavery or by giving sub standard living wages to most workers. This a hardship of life and unfortunately the Jews will have to suffer it alone, at least for the time being. I will continue to become a better politician and as a consequence I hope will gain the power necessary to let my morality make the choices, but for now, it seems I will have to yield my morality and fight unfairly against enemies that would do the same to me if given the chance. The Weimar Republic is now dead and with it, it's laws. Now is the beginning of the 3rd Reich. Writing my feelings out today has helped me see the good sense in my choice to follow the adviser's instructions. I shall write again soon with updates as necessary. -- -Adolf Hitler, 1933.
[ WP ] Two habitable planets in the same orbit but travelling in opposite directions cross paths twice a year just close enough to brush each other 's atmosphere . Six months ago the first balloon expedition successfully crossed , today everyone waits in excitement for the explorers anticipated return .	The `` balloon'' they called it, was not actually a balloon, nor did it even look like a balloon. In its infant stages of development, there were trials with military grade weather floats, giant ones in fact, and that is where the project got its name. The media and the oblivious public had dubbed it the Balloon Program. Behind closed doors, the scientists enlisted in the project laughed at the public's prying eyes. They truly had no clue what the scientists of Planet Yang were attempting to accomplish, and that was to make connection with Yin, its sister planet. Originally, the decaying and ruined humans of planet Earth had sent large colonial space vessels in search of habitable planets, fleeing their dying lands. Long ago, two colonial ships had been sent to these twin planets, a mere miracle that two existed in such close proximity. Historians of Yang tell of a trying landing and horrific ventures on the planets surface for the first humans. The habitable world was warm and lush, but the jungle covered planet offered little protection against giant predators, unknown microorganisms and disease. For the first century on Yang, the humans had gone into a dark age, losing most of their technological ability. From then on, the start of the `` Yang Rebirth'' had begun. The people of Yang had to rebuild from the bottom up, and it had taken centuries, but here they were at the cusp of space travel once again. Finally, humanity was the primal life force in this microscopic corner of the universe. The second colonial ship had not made contact with Yang since the its break into Yin's atmosphere centuries ago. Some say that their ancestors had told of a fiery explosion from the sister planets atmosphere, and others told of the colonial humans of Yin fall into darkness, it was said that there was no rebirth for them, only that the planet had taken them. In a sick way, the humans of Yang prided themselves in their ability to overcome adversity, while imagining their dying brothers and sisters. In their eyes, they were the stronger of the two. The stronger and fittest of the sisters. Myths and stories aside, the humans of Yang would know what happened to their brothers and sisters soon. Six standard months ago, the humans had successfully deployed their `` balloon'' into the upper atmosphere of their planet, and watched it fall into the atmosphere of Yin. The sister planets did not have moons and they orbited so close to each other that twice a standard year their atmospheres intertwined. Every year scientists took larger and closer pictures with stronger and stronger long range telescopes. It was estimated that Yin had a very similar, if not identical, atmosphere and ecology as Yang. Scientists had create a fast travelling cylinder shaped craft to send to Yin. With a rounded nose and backside, the craft looked more like an atmospheric travelling pill than an advanced craft. The advantage was that the craft could easily dislodge in half, the back side being a mobile laboratory and assault vehicle, while the front of the craft would act as the living quarters of the crew. Then, in six months time, the craft would reconnect and lift upwards while the planets were nearly touching. The craft was only 50 meters long, but it was a technological leap for the people of Yang. The craft had originally taken off from one of the very rare flats of the planets surface. Here there would be seclusion from public crowds and media, although of course some crafty citizens had been able to watch the craft launch with the naked eye. It was n't that the Yang government did n't want people to see the greatness of their advancements, it was that they did not want them to see it fail. Stage one had been a complete success, but there was still stage two. Professor Orion looked into the skies with his heavy binoculars. Using the middle finger of his right hand he slid the scope adjusters outward, causing the sights to zoom. `` I see it!'' he called to his colleagues, `` Here she comes! The Vanguard returns!'' Looking like a tiny insect against the looming deep green and blue of Yin, Orion could just barely make out the fiery jets and smoke of the craft in the distance. It was a short distance to travel for such a fast craft, she would make her landing within the hour. The Professor turned to his colleagues and started to cheer. The last six months had caused most of the crew major anxiety, and they had been theorizing and placing bets on what exactly the crew would return with. Would it be specimens of exotic creatures? Would it be mineral and soil samples? Flowers with unimaginable medical properties? A million possibilities buzzed liked flies through Professor Orion's mind as he wiped his thick aged brow. The humidity and heat of Yang was taking its toll on the elderly man. He raised his binoculars for another look. The Vanguard had began to take a larger and more formed shape, and the Professor smiled once again, but the smile did not last long. His jaw slowly dropped and his heart beat quickened. Though his blood was flowing at an increased pace, it felt like a icy river through his veins. He adjusted his binoculars once again, and to his disbelief he saw more black specs against the backdrop of Yin. The specs were growing ever larger as he silently watched, they seemed to be travelling even faster than the Vanguard. `` Impossible.'' Orion whispered. `` There are more craft! Look! Look there!'' The Professor screamed at the crew, pointing with a outstretched arm. The crew raised their own binoculars and frightened gasps and yells began to ring out from the small group. `` They are gaining on the Vanguard! '' a fellow scientist yelped. `` The ship has broken into our orbit!'' another screamed. Suddenly the Vanguard erupted into a flash of light and crumbled, its smoking husk and fragments dropping through orbit, tracing smoke through the blue sky. Gravity was the Vanguard's only pilot as bits of the craft descended upon the planet. Professor Orion's shaking hands lowered his binoculars. He could not hear the screams of terror from his colleagues, disbelief had made him deaf, sweat now drenched his long white hair. For all of the millions of possibilities that had buzzed through his brain, this was not one of them. They are coming.
[ WP ] It is far in the future and time travel has been created . To stop people from traveling through time unsupervised and at the same time sate the hunger for it , a company arises . `` Time Tours '' . A time travel company . You are one of the tour guides and someone from the group has gone missing	I wonder if I ’ ll be fired or if they ’ ll just kill me. I ’ m not speaking hyperbolically; I think they are well within their rights to murder me. Time Tours, the chrono-tourism company, has prided itself on being the most respected and safest method of time travel today. Sure, some are more fun or cheaper, but they have their risks. EconoTime has a 5 % fatality rate each month. Their waivers are really good, and they tend to just “ undo ” the deaths, but that ’ s still a terrifying situation. So, you can imagine my horror when I counted my group -- three times over -- and I was one short. I knew exactly who it was. Billy, that 14-year-old hellion, who towed his parents around like stuffed animals. He was making all sorts of demands for where we should go in different eras. Part of me actually wonders if his parents dropped him off on purpose. But, this not the time or the place. I made the call “ Code Red in 1992. ” “ Are you sure? Please confirm. ” “ Confirmed code red. We are one short. ” “ Technicians will be dispatched shortly. ” I waited. I wasn ’ t sure if they ’ d just shoot me in the back of the head while I did, kill my parents so that I was undone, and this whole accident never happened, or just black bagged me, and threw me into the prehistoric era, or the future, where I would die alone. All seemed plausible. Which is why when we all started to fade away, I was caught off guard. I woke up in my apartment to an alarm buzzing. That was odd. We didn ’ t use alarms. There was no need for one, nor any rush to work. I turned on the television, and I started to understand. “ Our supreme grand leader has declared productivity is below acceptable levels. As such, he is cutting rations by half to the city. Those areas where product makes quota will be give the full release, and the other sections will suffer. Let ’ s all take a moment to praise our grand leaders great vision. This is the only way to encourage others to work better. ” The picture of the supreme grand leader flashed on the screen. He was older, though definitely not old enough for the time that he would have had to have lived through, which was disconcerting. It was undeniable who it was. My mistake staring me in the face. Billy.
[ WP ] Write about an epic battle of wits between two masters , then cut it short when one of them pulls out a handgun .	( ( please give feedback! ) ) `` I concur—the chemical agent in the water supply was a masterstroke,'' said Holmes. `` Of course it was, Detective,'' replied Moriarty. `` The compound was a patented design of mine.'' The two circled each other—Holmes, like a boxer; the professor, like a shark about to feast. `` And the execution with which you lured us into this room was quite admirable,'' continued the detective. `` A trap that even the likes of the good Doctor Watson could not detect. But I did.'' Moriarty smiled. `` I am glad you were aware of the consequences of stepping foot in here,'' he retorted. `` Egad, Holmes!'' I exclaimed. `` The man has a gun, for crying out loud!'' `` Quite, my dear Watson,'' affirmed the detective. `` A Webley Bulldog Five-Shot pocket revolver, to be exact—judging by the shape of the bulge and the indent in the line of your jacket.'' The professor smiled. `` Indeed—'' `` And with a single bullet left in the chamber, it would seem, judging by the four casualties the good doctor and I came across just outside this room—'' `` Your abductive reasoning skills are exemplary as always, Mister Holmes,'' the professor interrupted. In a swift movement he procured the revolver, aiming the silver barrel at Holmes. `` But surely you realise what comes next. I would not run my mouth off, were I in the fatal position you are now.'' `` Quite so,'' Holmes replied softly. `` But then I suppose we are nothing alike, Detective,'' Moriarty chuckled as he stepped closer to Holmes. `` I brought a gun to this fight—I shall emerge the victor. Your reliance on wit—your arrogance—has proven your fatal flaw as I knew it would.'' He pulled back the hammer and raised the weapon to Holmes' eye level. `` I win. Goodbye, Mister Holmes. You were a worthy adversary.'' `` Holmes—!'' I started. But from my position in the room I was helpless, unable to stop anything. The detective raised his eyes to the professor. `` You were n't, I'm afraid,'' he sighed. `` I beg your pardon?'' `` A worthy adversary. Even I would've thought the great James Moriarty to be above such crass methods.'' He sat down in a chair, resigned. `` Take your shot, professor. At least I shall die with the knowledge that I was the superior wit.'' The professor twitched, the revolver dropping infinitesimally. `` Mister Holmes, you do surprise me—'' he started, moving to place the revolver back inside his pocket. At the movement, Holmes reached inside his own coat, yanked out a revolver of his own and fired a single terse shot into Moriarty's chest. The professor dropped to the ground, dead. The detective stood up, stepping over scattered papers to the body. `` Oh, Professor Moriarty,'' he spoke softly. `` Your arrogance has proven your fatal flaw. As I knew it would.'' -- -- -- -- -- -- - EDIT: people are having hang-ups about the ejaculate part
[ WP ] Everybody can sell their memories , which is priced differently based on the demand of the memories . You 've struck poverty in the recent days and decided to sell yours ...	The hurts, the pains, and most of the sad moments don ’ t add up to much. Sure, they take up a lot of space in the brain, but there ’ s not much demand so the recompense barely covers the cost of the procedure. But while we are in there, I figure we can burn these out. I don ’ t need to remember that stuff anyway. The collection of firsts are a bit more dear. First kisses, the first time seeing the ocean, or the first time driving cross-country alone, these have better return, so I ’ ve elected to have these mined as well. I ’ ll do some of them again with the money that is left over after paying off my debts and some will just be gone forever. It ’ s difficult to imagine not having a memory of something I ’ ve done. To see a picture of my family gathered at Mount Rushmore and wondering who took the time to photoshop in my smiling visage. Anyhow, I don ’ t look at old pictures much and my family has long since distanced themselves from me. My chemical addiction has long since estranged me from those who were close to me. Maybe there is a sad wealthy old many just waiting to buy and implant the scenes of my childhood. He can have them and I ’ ll just keep the reasons why I don ’ t talk to them anymore. I asked if they could take away the articles of addiction, the long fuzzy stretch, where I was a petty thief and otherwise waste of human life, but due to my criminal record it is unlawful to remove these memories as supposedly I have had to learn from those mistakes. “ But take the rest, ” I told them. “ Take all that you can, except for Juliana. ” Leave her to me, as I am probably the only one who remembers her now. I look forward to stretching out into the newly darkened fields of memory and finding her as the only source of light. She was inexorably tied to my drug abuse, but she was also my muse, my love. I still have some of the paintings I made for her. The dark canvases, layered thickly with agonized paint. Juliana made me feel again after the long numb of chemical sedation started to wear off. Leave me with her smiles and laughter. I want to recall the look that she would give me when she knew I was omitting something, skirting a lie, or employing another weak junky con. I want to remember how she died, her choking little coughs and the gurgles of blood that formed as she tried to speak. Laying there on the pavement with my hands under her head she looked at me, grabbed my arms as her lungs filled, her body convulsing as she drowned in her own blood. Take the rest. Take all you can, just leave me with her and the money. I don ’ t want anything else but the derelict part of my life and the woman whose beauty and love saved me. I ’ ll be a good man for her, you ’ ll see. I ’ ll do much better this time.
[ WP ] Despite thousands of sapient species in the universe , only humans can comprehend the idea of `` war . '' This fact , and Earth being the only planet without severe overpopulation because of it , makes humans `` exotic . '' You 're an alien tour guide , trying to sell tours to Earth .	It's almost too easy. Each world I go to, it always works exactly the same. In all the many year of humanities existence prior to the invention of the displacement drive which allowed interstellar travel, we had always imagined ourselves as the scrappy underdogs trying to survive in a universe full of predators. We imagined this because we come from a world filled with predators, all competing with each other. Kill or be killed. We never expected to finally get out into the universe and find that we were the apex predator at the top of every food chain in existence. Every other advanced civilization, once they made the transition from animals to tool-making civilizations, united together as a species and gave up their primal survival instincts or they wiped themselves out. They've all evolved so far they do n't even remember the idea of hunting anymore. And since there are no hunters among the star-faring civilizations, there is no prey either. Not one of the others know anything of how to avoid being hunted any more than they know how to hunt. Except us. We have conquered every world, every territory, every rival with ease. Because we're wolves in a universe of sheep. The rest just do n't get it, and that's what makes it easy. They think they know us, but they do n't. At some level, they understand that we're dangerous, my pitch would n't work if they did n't, but they do n't really get it. They certainly do n't know how to deal with it. I've visited more than two hundred alien cultures, and I have it down to an art form. Without fail, it always happens the same way. I show up, and introduce myself as a representative of humanity. They will know us by reputation, everyone knows us by reputation. We're the boogeymen of the universe after all, the monsters of their nightmares, described with fearful whispers while telling their darkest legends. They may not remember how to be predators anymore, but they certainly recognize the vast power it brings us. And they want it. So along I come. I find whatever being or beings rule their society, their king, president, hive-queen, grand overmind, or whatever it is that they have. I cozy up to them, make myself their friend. Then I suggest that they could learn from us, how to conquer their rivals like we conquer ours. Warfare is a totally alien concept to them, they have no idea how it works, but they know it makes us powerful, and you do n't have to be a predator to find power seductive. So I sell them on visiting Earth, seeing how it's done, learning to be like us. I offer to teach them the secrets of power over life and death. It seems silly to us, but it's a temptation too great for them to resist. I used to wonder if maybe it was a sad commentary on humanity, that we take advantage of them like this, but on the other hand, all it would take to save them is to decline my offer. More than two hundred alien cultures, and not one of them has ever said no. They always send their leaders, their best and brightest, because I warn them against letting an underling be the first to learn the secrets of ultimate power They send their leaders to Earth, and we send them'advisers'. Of course, the advisers are really an occupation force and the leaders they send to Earth are really hostages to ensure cooperation, but they can not suspect what they can not imagine. Eventually they slowly start to understand, they learn about weapons, tactics, and strategy the hard way when we demonstrate it by conquering them. But it never matters how much they learn. They never succeed in resisting us, and no matter how many times we repeat this process the rest of the universe does n't wise up. Because humans, always at war with each other, had to develop something else in order to work together long enough to form civilizations. Something that the peaceful peoples of the universe never needed, the true power of humanity, something we use to rule the entirety of everything with an iron fist even as we teach the rest of the universe how to use weapons and strategy. We may teach them war, but we save for ourselves that blackest and most sinister of all arts: politics.
[ WP ] Yesterday , I buried my brother	My brother was always getting into trouble. The damn fool had really done it this time. See, he was always one of those big chested, squared up, out macho any living thing kind of guy, who just loved living in the city. However, being as he's just entering his twenties, he does n't have the kind of high paying employment to afford living in the nicer parts of town. Two and two always makes four, no matter how tragic the results are. It all started four days ago. He managed to run his mouth off to some dangerous people, very bad men who wanted to set an example of the consequences of not treating them properly. My stupid brother. Why could n't he just keep his anger in check. It's not a question if you know the answer is it? In my life I learned a variety of skills that I've been paid for by various clients around the region. You may have even seen my work, but I sincerely doubt it, as my particular talent is making people disappear. When I had heard through the grapevine, because of course the tough bastard would n't tell me what was wrong, that he was marked, I began making a list, and a bill. A short forty eight hours, two trips to the morgue, four bribed officials, one blank passport, fifty thousand untraceable US dollars, and a box of those dreadful chocolate strawberry flavored Twunkeez™ later, I had faked my brother's untimely demise. Another expense, worse yet than all the before it, is that due to the sphere of influence this particular group of bad men have, my brother had to be smuggled out of the country. He's had to go to a place I surely wo n't mention here, and for all intents and purposes, he has to be dead to me. Yesterday, I buried my brother.
You 've made a decision to leave Earth forever ... to explore the unknown space of the distant universe . You must leave now . Write a letter to someone you hold dear , explaining why it is that you must go , and not stay .	Dear Friend, Look up at the night sky ( if it is indeed night time when you read this ). A long time ago, you wouldn ’ t be able to see any of the stars bending across the galaxy. Our own electric stars caused the celestial ones to dim in comparison. We felt powerful, knowing we could blot God ’ s creations with our own. How foolish we were! The stars are divine and don ’ t take kindly to being snuffed out. We shouldn ’ t have been surprised, then, when the stars fell to Earth in a glow of righteous fury. They exploded into huge oddly shaped clouds; the scalding stardust formed mushrooms in the burning sky. When the stars returned to their eternal vigilant over the universe, we emerged from our holes, dazed and broken. Our electric stars were gone. Our power had been stripped from us. We were frightened. We had no idea where or how to continue. But then, the night came and with it, the stars. They were so beautiful. For once, we saw real light, light the way it was meant to be. And as we looked around us to see not a living soul in sight, we laid ourselves down in the solitude and admired the stars alone, one singular person in a sky of dirt, looking up at a star-studded ground. I don ’ t know who you are, but I know you are my friend because if you are reading this, then that means you are alive. I go now to be with the stars so that I may understand them and maybe, one day, even become one. One day, you will join me here in the sky; of this I promise. We will watch the brown barren Earth turn slowly as our brothers and sisters shine with us, giving the hope and life that no electric stars can give. Sincerely, Your Friend.
[ WP ] You have just successfully made your first trip to the International Space Station , you are looking down at Earth , admiring the gorgeous view . You see a small light , it and then several hundred more across the globe . They were nuclear bombs . You try to contact Huston , but no one responds .	`` John Huston! I need to speak to the director of the Maltese Falcon immediately!'' `` Sir, he has been dead some time. And as I just explained HAM radio is not actually a device that lets you talk to the dead. Virgin Galactic makes every effort to accomodate even our most eccentric patrons at the ISS historical recreation museum, but there is no Space African Queen.'' `` But the bombs! Look at them all! We need to man up and build a space ark. Takes someone like Huston to do it in a hurry.'' `` Sir, that is the normal light pollution from the surface at night. We are on a slightly different orbit than the original ISS.'' `` We're taking a Soyuz to California! Or Texas! Gon na load up on space guns and space liquor and space drugs and space arks and save us all!'' `` Sir, it is a replica. No actual propulsion. Did you, maybe, take some space drugs before coming on this tour?'' `` The attendant said they were complimentary!'' `` Not the whole bottle. Just follow these nice men back to your private quarters on the main ship. Sleep this one off.''
[ WP ] To our surprise , humanity is the most coldly rational species in the galaxy .	It's important to realize that until the Earthlings made Contact, no one thought it was possible for a species as stupid as them to even be sentient, let alone reach the point of leaving their home planet. It seemed like a tautology, a contradiction in terms: the very definition of sentience was a species' ability to overcome parochial individual interests to work for the good of the species as a whole. Some of the Earthlings even told the story that perfectly encapsulated what was thought to happen to any species that was only interested in personal gain: they would be too busy stealing from and killing each other to ever work towards any sort of common goal, or even to live long enough to think about it. Yet even after discovering the principle of evolution, the Earthlings failed to see the absurdity in the notion that this story didn't perfectly describe themselves. Indeed, they seem to have arrogantly taken the stand that theirs was the only model of sentience that was even possible. It seems hard to believe, but you must remember that for any species prior to Contact, they only have their own species to go off of. By the time they made Contact, the Earthlings seem to have come up with an ingenious method to trick themselves into working for the good of the species. Some of their number seem to have gathered up other Earthlings and used them to work on whatever things they personally wanted to get done. They seem to have amassed enough power to control the very means of other Earthlings' survival, and used that to blackmail them into getting their way. This structure worked very well for Earthlings in many different fields; indeed, their solution to the story of personal gain was to create an institution with that kind of power, the power to stop themselves from killing each other for long enough to be able to work on more productive pursuits. The result was more that the powerful Earthlings would proceed to fight each other for personal gain, but their ability to marshal other Earthlings to fight and die for them allowed them to proceed with relatively little danger to their own life and limb, while for their part, the less powerful Earthlings seem to have been deluded into thinking that the good of their powerful benefactor was the good of the whole. This delusion may help explain what happened by the time the Earthlings made Contact, when a group of powerful Earthlings had turned their smaller armies of less powerful Earthlings towards producing the goods and services more enlightened species produce. The powerful Earthlings seem to have hoped to benefit by producing more or better goods and services than the others producing the same things, in hopes of convincing more Earthlings to choose their goods and services over the others and meet the powerful Earthlings' corresponding demands, usually in the form of tribute of something called `` money''. As mentioned, it was a quite ingenious method for reaching the state of development of more enlightened species, at least in certain pockets of their planet, but it should be apparent that this was not quite enough to hide its status as a crude adaptation of the communal system used by all truly enlightened races. Some Earthlings, particularly the less powerful ones and those concerned about their plight as the exploited class in this system, even articulated many of the principles of the communal system, and there seems to have been several attempts to embrace it, but all of them seem to have quickly faltered and hijacked as a means for certain Earthlings to obtain power and exercise it on other Earthlings, assuming it was n't a pretense to do that to begin with. Earthlings are just too prone to exploit and otherwise denigrate each other for it to work, and they are also, as a whole, too poor judges of character to see that letting a single powerful Earthling dictate their actions is no substitute for working for their own greater good. That the Earthlings could articulate how the communal system works was not sufficient for them to grasp why it works, for the Earthlings, being familiar only with their own species, could never have conceived of the many ways more enlightened races enforce reciprocity and weed out those that would seek to use others for personal gain without meaningfully contributing to others' well-being. While other races trick their psychopaths into working for the greater good, the Earthlings' psychopaths seem to have successfully tricked the rest of the species into working for their own good, and the result is but a shallow parody of true sentience.
[ WP ] Your office has an emergency stop button . You have no machinery . No one knows what it does .	I looked up from my desk and stared at the wall. There was red button encased in a plastic cover, labeled `` Emergency Stop''. It was the hundredth time I've looked up at it today. What the hell does that button do? `` Seriously, Laurie,'' I started. `` What does that button stop?'' Laurie looked up from her desk, which was opposite mine. Several other desks were paired together all around the room, with people typing away on computers, some talking to each other. `` Oh my god,'' she said. `` Leave it alone already. Who cares?'' `` I care. It's driving me crazy.'' I stood up and walked over the button. `` It says'Emergency Stop', but there's no machinery.'' `` Maybe it's leftover from a previous company that had machinery in here?'' Laurie was looking over in my direction. `` You're not thinking of pressing it, are you?'' `` I do n't know. I think I have to or I'll never be able to focus.'' I lifted the plastic case and positioned my finger over the red button. `` Do n't,'' Laurie panicked, suddenly up from her desk and standing behind me. It was too late, nothing was going to stop me then. I pushed the button. The room became deathly silent. There was no more typing. No more talking. I looked back at Laurie and found a blank stare. `` Laurie?'' I asked, but there was no response. I looked around the room and everyone else had the same blank stares. And then, almost all at once, everybody fell to the ground.
[ WP ] a woman is cursed so that every time she pictures something happening to her it will not happen . Any scenario she dreams of involving herself will definitely not come true . Now as an old woman what does she still dream for most , but still never happens ?	The old woman sits in a medical bed, staring out the window. Juliet, a nurse who has worked at the hospice since she arrived, sits across from her; taking her break within the old womans room as she often does, trying as hard as ever to make conversation, and break the old womans silence. `` They tell me you'll be a hundred and five soon.'' Juliet says, cheerily `` Could probably get some sort of letter from the Queen by now. You've earnt as much.'' She watches the old woman carefully, knowing that should the woman ever turn to meet her eye she'd probably look away instantly, the woman had that sort of an effect on you; something that made Juliet feel every word she says is futile, not that by now she did n't feel it regardless; fifteen years of silence wo n't be broken by chit chat. `` Mary's asked if you'd like to have some tea with her again later, do n't know whether you listen to her but she sure seems to enjoy talking at you.'' Juliet laughed a little `` Not that I can judge anyone for that, pestering you every day.'' The woman continued to look out of the window, letting out a brief sigh. Once, Juliet had taken her expression as a breakthrough - but sighing is the most communication that the woman can muster. `` I just figure you might want some company. Lord knows we ca n't kick you out, woman in your condition, so I thought until your ready to go you'd like a little company.'' The sun drifted slowly between the clouds as the woman closed her eyes, allowing it to briefly paint her face. `` Then again, you're a fighter are n't you? Thought my Nan was a tough cookie making it to ninety three, then here's you right as rain at your age!'' Juliet collected up the packaging she had left on the rooms small table and brushed crumbs from herself as she stood. Opening the door, she watched the old woman for a few more moments, hoping to see even the slightest smile as the sun cast shadows across the wrinkles on her face. `` I'll be back again usual time tomorrow, as always you're welcome to tell me to sod off if you'd rather be alone?'' No response. `` Well then, tomorrow it is.'' The sun past and the old womans eyes opened, returning to the same non existant spot she had been staring at before the clouds passed. Juliet heard her sigh again. `` Coming in here's really changed my perspective on things y'know, all it takes is a woman like you, enjoying the rare bits of sun that window might get, to remind you why life's worth fighting for. Need that sometimes, working in a place like this.'' Juliet smiled and gently closed the door behind her. Under the gentle hum of the next rooms air conditioning, the old woman once again closed her eyes under the sun and leant back into her bed, allowing her mind to wander. Then, as she did every day, the old woman dreamt of dying.
( WP ) God made the universe to win a competition , and he only got second place .	That's not fair. Said Jimmy. His civilisation started exploring the universe and could communicate throughout long distances which none of the other competitors could do. They all had some intelligent creatures, but none of them could use technology as good as Jimmy's humans. Why did Lucas win? My humans were far way the best creatures! The organiser came to Jimmy, who still held his universe in his hands like a basketball. Yeah Jimmy, not even Lucas' Kroms were able to travel to space but there is one thing your humans lost despite being overly intelligent. What is it? Jimmy was surprised, but the curiosity needed to know what his fault was. Your Humans lost faith in you. When they started to stand on their own feet, many of them believed that they are the highest power. When they started to see themselves as their master, they became independent. You were not needed anymore as a God. The Kroms were not evolved but they were humble. I believe that Luca's creation was happier than your humans ever will be. Oh... I should have sent one more Messiah instead of Da vinci right? The man smiled. That's what you have to figure out next time. Jimmy's universe, quietly glowimg, vanished as the man's finger touched the surface.
Make a story ( 1000 word limit ) where a certain phrase/punch line of a joke is said multiple times throughout the story , and the story ends with this phrase , but it makes the reader really sad .	I do n't think I'm going to make it. Literally, all that tethers me to this world is this stick. A stick, a human and dangling over a cliff. They say you see your life flash before your eyes before you die. Well, all I'm thinking right now is `` FUCK ME.'' Maybe that means I'm not dying? I look up, trying to glimpse her face for possibly the last time. She's screaming something, but I ca n't hear her. All I hear is a faint buzzing, her face in slow motion, stressed with the effort of holding me. It looks as though she's reassuring me, telling me that it's going to be okay. Just because I'm at the edge of a cliff, does n't mean I suddenly become an idiot. It's just annoying to me, how she simplifies things to me, as though talking to a lower life-form. Bitch please. You should have seen the way she spoke to me when we first met. She used to come in at the cafe I worked at in Manhattan, almost 20 years ago. Came in everyday, at exactly two-thirty, her lunch-break, ordered a warm blueberry muffin, cappuccino ( no sugar ) and did the crossword silently. By the time she left, she would always have completed the full thing. A few weeks like this pass, I still have n't made a move. But today, it's different. She looks like she ca n't figure out one of the answers. So finally, I pluck up the courage to talk to her, in a more casual setting. `` Hey, you need any help with that?'' She looks up, icy-cold stare and says `` When have I ever needed help? I've finished every single crossword, every day. I do n't need help from some waiter.'' Instantly affronted, I back up. As I start walking back, taking her highness' dirty cup with me, I hear a small voice saying `` Sorry. I'm just having a horrid day.'' Indecision strikes. Eventually, I figure it ca n't hurt to give her a shoulder to cry on. Maybe I could give her more than a shoulder if you know what I mean. So I plonk myself down on the chair next to her and ask what's wrong. `` Well, you might not care, but I work in those labs over there,'' she said, nudging her head in the direction of Rockefeller Research Laboratories building, across the street. I whistled, but it was purely of jealousy. But it did explain the high-and-mighty attitude…a doctor, probably well paid and incredibly smart. `` So what happened?'' I ask, slightly awed. `` The division I was under, in micro-biology, was shut down today. I lost my job.'' I think she may have noticed a slightly confused look in my face because she added `` Oh, micro-biology is like when we work with tiny bacteria and things like that.'' Again with the fucking condescension. `` I know what micro-biology is, thank you. I was just wondering why they would n't just shift you around to a different division, or assign a new project.'' `` Because they do n't think me and my team can produce results.'' Her softened expression instantly hardened back to the icy-witch stare. `` Thanks for listening to me I guess, but you just would n't understand.'' She stood up and turned. `` What's your name?'' I blurt out, sensing my last chance at conversation. `` Jennifer.'' And she never came back to the cafe. But life has a funny way of coming full-circle. A few years later, I saw her again, at a private fundraiser for research grants, representing a small private firm. Momentarily shocked, I go up, tap her on the shoulder and say hello. It took her a second, but the recognition showed in her eyes. `` Hi! What are you doing here?'' I reply, `` Well I finally graduated from med-school and I got a job. I'm here in a professional capacity.'' Her eyes widened. As I saw that, I felt a tinge of pride. I felt equality. And thus I produced the wittiest, flirtatious and funniest conversation I've ever had. And it was with her. I'm sure every guy thinks this, but in my case, it's true. Within minutes, we were laughing so hard, at some stupid joke I told her. I do n't remember exactly why it was so funny…alcohol may have been involved. It is to date, funnily enough the only question she's never been able to answer. `` What's brown and sticky?'' But I never remembered telling her the punchline. So back to dying. Yeah, I'm barely hanging on, teetering on the edge of the world. Nothing new. And as I focus back to the present, I make out her words. `` I wo n't let you die!'' No condescension there. Just determination. `` I wo n't!'' as she struggled to hold me, her face contorted with effort. I could feel a faint smile along my face. `` I love you.'' I whispered, but somehow she heard me. `` Do n't say that, YOU WILL MAKE IT!'' she screamed back. `` Jenny I love you.'' I said it stronger this time, making sure she heard me. I ca n't hold on longer. My arms are turning to lead. Every bit of me wants to live and spend the rest of our lives together. But I ca n't hold on. So I say the last thing I think of. `` Hey, what's brown and sticky?'' `` I do n't know!'' she cries, tears pouring out, sobbing hysterically. `` A stick,'' I reply as I let go of my life-line.
[ WP ] In a world where everyone is superhuman , you are not . However , everyone is terrified of you .	Stimulus. Reaction. Repeat. It was all I was. Nothing more. Possibilites of the universe beyond me were incomprehensible. There was only the Process. My thoughts were a chemical reaction. Nothing concrete, nothing abstract. Only existing. I was part of my body but had no control. I was defined by it. I could not understand anything beyond the Process. My own consciousness was suspect. I lacked the ability to discern myself from my surroundings. The superhumans of the world could, however. They feared me and my kind. I did not know this. The Process was responsible for my creation. My creation, and trillions of others like me. Different in form, perhaps, but all following the same Process. I did not know this. There was no time to know, only to be, and to do. So I followed the Process. Stimulus. One that was familiar, just as all others had been. This one warned of danger. I felt no fear. All the men and women in the world could n't stop the Process. It was was ever-changing, evolving. Even if I was stopped, the Process would keep going. I did not know this. I followed the way of the Process just as before. Unchanging beyond the requirements of my evironment. Stimulus. This one I was unfamiliar with, but knew of. It signalled the end of my work with the Process. My end. It was more warning than most would get in my situation. Danger nearby usually implied an abrupt end. Thoughts broken in the midst of the Process. With this, my work would be complete. My children would be the ones to continue in my stead. I did not know this. I knew the Process, however, and as the chemical reaction it was, my mind followed it. I reached. I touched. The Process continued uninhibited. Eventually, I became one with the Process. The danger receeded. My duty had been fulfilled. Another Superhuman would fall to the Process. I did not know this. -- - `` Positive.'' The doctor said. The patient's face fell. The word was not something anyone wanted to hear. It was the truth, however, and a harsh one. `` We triple-checked the test results to be sure. I'm sorry.'' There was no change in the doctor's expression. The patient knew what awaited. It prompted a thought. A though that simultaneously gave hope and crushed it. The patient started to laugh. The doctor remained stoic. A veteran of the field, this was not a unique reaction. `` Say, doctor, how long has it been since the Uplifting?'' Without missing a beat, the doctor replied, `` Fifteen months.'' The patient sighed. The words that followed were softly spoken. `` I suppose, with all our improvements, we can never truly escape death, can we? Somthing always gets us.'' The patient tapped the sheet of painful truths the doctor held. `` And this one? It is n't even a new one. It's something that's been with us, at least for half a century or so.'' A chuckle escaped the patient's lips. `` I guess shit like this is why people are still pursuing degrees in medicine.'' The patient looked out of the window. It was a clear, sunny day. In the midst of all this, the day would continue. The sun would rise and set. The floors would keep being mopped and clothes would keep being washed. Cars would crash wiith their drivers intact. Heroes and villains would rise and fall. The process that started inside the patient's body would continue. Perhaps, in time, there would be a cure found. The patient did not know this.
[ WP ] You were once a ordinary man , but now you 're a god . After the old universe ended , you created a new one . You made several dimensions , eldritch beings to occupy them , and made magic a reality . You 've also recreated Earth and made lesser gods . After that , you slept , and you have now awoken .	He woke up with that strange feeling again. You know when you feel you've slept on the wrong side of the bed?, or when you do n't remember, for a split second, what galaxy you were sleeping on. It took him a moment ( civilizations were born and destroyed quicker than that ), but he finally came back to who he was. What he was doing before the Great Slumber caught up to him. Creating. ( A nagging sensation in his stomach, though: His dreams left residual memories that could n't be accessed, like when you have a name for something but you do n't know what it describes just yet ) He rubbed his eyes ( bigger than suns, if it had material occurrence ), and as they focused he could see the whole of Creation. What a mess. The thing is, this job is really hard. He remembered going through all his notes, absorbing the ethereal protoconscience of the Non-Beings for inspiration, fueling all that into the Great Work... He labored for days and was so burned out by the end that his conscience slipped and the Great Slumber caught up to him. He had no time to edit it. And there it was, his First Draft, out into the open, all the little bits and pieces working together, all his smart ideas on how to disguise High Entities from the superficial level of conscience of even the smartest kinds of life, but also all the shortcuts he took to make all of this kind of... hang together. He had n't decided where people would go after death, for example, so there were many Lost Beings wondering the earth, cluttering up the astral plane. This has had an interesting, unexpected effect. The load became so big that Humans ( the highest intelligence made of flesh in most of the planets ) started devising ways to communicate through the dimensions, which was not good. He should've never given them free will, he though. Always screws with his algorithms. What happened, then, is that the Eldritch Beings took notice, and started pouring into regular existence. Humans, used as they were now in communicating with Others, started talking to them. They sent ambassadors! Oh, those silly bastards. The Lesser Gods watched expectantly as humans made the Eldritch Beings settle into a reasonable amount of souls per year ( the load was becoming insurmountable anyway ), in exchange for free pass through the dimensions for the selected Occult Planewalkers. The Lesser Gods, petty as they were, requested a big amount of sacrifice too -- but gold sufficed. Humanity had come together when faced with the Others and were able to distribute their wealth very well among themselves, achieving levels of equality never seen in the past nine or ten Creations -- and more resources than they could spend. And that was how the Humans were able to establish a pretty decent trade route between the Lighter Planes and the Heavier Planes. Hm. Ca n't blame them on their intelligence, he supposed. He was obviously flattering himself, but he had to give it to them that it was a really smart deal. Imperfect, as everything is, but it had the great advantage of being there. It was already done. There was no drama, as he first devised, no climactic plot. The Eldritch were n't lurking people's psychosis looking for a way in, people were n't worried all the time about being dead, or being rich, or being heroes. They were even making plans for the after life -- where would they like to go, who would they like to meet. Little Eldritch Kids were coming to the Material Plane to study human philosophy and they have been able to understand Humans better for that, which led to many polite political discussions about the rights of human souls and their current eating habits. Nothing happend as he had intended: no great fancies of magic, not even one huge interdimensional worlds war. But it was there. That was the dream, he remembered. A strange tired old dog approached him near a cosmic crossroad, went around his legs and finally lied on his feet, ready to sleep. Earth was circling and circling, getting further and further away, as a hint of proud, a fatherly feel, came to his face. He felt good. He could afford a nap. > thanks for reading!
[ WP ] You inherit the abilities and skill set of whatever video game character you last played . Tell the story of your discovery of this from the perspective of someone around you . Parents , roomates , etc .	`` well, shit.'' This was hardly an out of character phrase for me, but it was certainly appropriate. Jim was obviously nuts. Here he was, bleeding to death, and he was just sitting there, staring at our blue office microwave. Well, I thought he was nuts. Then he actually started having his wounds just close up. It only got weirder from there. Suddenly a bunch of guys I'd never seen before were just wandering around. They were all yelling about `` finding the traitors'', whatever the hell that meant. I just hid in a closet til this maniacs decided to leave. The guy I was with earlier, Jim, told me to keep my head down, and showed me this little credentials card. It said he was some kind of counter-terror specialist. I rolled my eyes, until he pulled out a knife and tossed it straight into the leg of a guy from down the hall. I thought that was pretty bad showing, except at that point the guy just kind of had some kind of heart attack and died. Ignoring my increasing confusion, Jim just pulled an RPK right out of his fucking pants, pulled the charging handle, and walked off at this weird half jog pace with it at hip level. The sound of gunfire from various weapons went on and off for about 5 more minutes, then Jim came back. He stuffed his RPK back into his pocket and now was just holding his hands awkwardly at hip level. `` Hey, you wan na go get some lunch man?'' I shrugged. `` Sure, why the hell not.'' We walked off. I was just glad to be out of that freaking office building, even if there was snow out here.
[ WP ] One day out of a blue , a message is broadcast on every form of electronic media from an unknown source . Everyone perceives it as their own language , but you 're bilingual . And you 're hearing two vastly different messages .	Looking back, I wish I was n't the one of the people who pushed it, had n't pointed it out, I could have saved so many lives. On what came to known as judgement day, every man, woman, and child received a broadcast via electronic device telling them `` GOD IS GREAT, SHOW ME HUMANITIES FAITH'' before deleting itself. At first, people thought this was a weird hack or glitch, social marketing data gone wrong, as the message was written in the language of the reader, no matter what language the device was set too, but then came the testimonials from people like me: Bilinguals. We had an... experience. See, most people simply read it, but because we knew two languages, we not only did not see characters we recognized, but the feedback loop of reading it in two languages forced us to consume the intent of the message. I-its hard to describe, but as we heard `` god is great'' we... we'saw' GOD, a being so utterly beyond description that no words are of use, as how does one describe a being that we strained to even perceive as a being, as `` being'' feels too weak and petty and powerless to ever come even within the same galaxy of definition. we were consumed and enveloped by his greatness... a couple of us I'm told did n't survive. `` Show me humanities faith''... our interpretation of these words will likely never be forgotten until humanity eventually succumbs to it's own ignorance and wipes itself out in GOD's name. Those of us who listened knew immediately and without a doubt what GOD meant by these words; GOD wanted all the non-believers culled, all believers tempered to fanaticism by their cause not a soul in between. In the oncoming weeks, the message had made it on to creepypasta pages and top 10 creepiest youtube videos, but slowly over the next couple months, people like me; bilinguals who had `` experienced'' the message, had joined together to generate what started as a cult. Now I did n't join the cult, but I DID defend their message. People would talk to me about the message and about the cult, most likely adding `` but you can read English and French, and you did n't have this experience, so it's debunked, right?'' to which I would have to reply with the truth. It started out with just friends and family, but slowly moved into news sites and politicians as the cult pushed further and further and people slowly realized that there were no bilinguals who did n't'receive' this message, as after one has perceived GODS greatness, it becomes nigh impossible to deny it, and then as it became generally accepted as word of god, slowly, quietly, patiently, the culling began. It started with the murderers. Mysterious individuals who just quietly dispatched atheists until it became extremely dangerous to even claim the title. Then news sites quietly went from talking about the horribleness of the murders to the absurdity of the victims belief. After about a year of this, the remainders quietly attempted to meld themselves into the society of believers, and it was there that they discovered the murderers had all banded together to form a terrifying hybrid of the KKK and Inquisition. Nowadays, it's assumed that `` Athiesm is dead'', and the zealots have started turning their gaze to the zealots of `` other gods''. It's started looking like within the year nukes are going to fly. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry...
[ RF ] A man suffering from agorphobia makes friends with a cat that visits his window each morning .	I've been waiting for the writing prompt to unleash this character. Hope you do n't mind that he's a she. Excuse the formatting, I'm on my phone: Sylvia Satterly's biggest fear was dying in a crowd. She could handle dying at home, preferably at night, in her bedroom, alone. Daily, she concocted scenarios where she choked to death at a restaurant or a burly man with long, brown hair, large hands and the name `` Lars'' stitched on his work shirt strangled her to death in the middle of town square. Sometimes he stabbed her, or mutilated her in another, unkind way. All the while pedestrians shuffled around her, viewing the scuffle as inconsequential as a beggar in the streets. Dying was n't what bothered her. At a wrinkled 78, she knew her time was coming soon. Her heart was bad, and she did n't sleep well from all of the worry. It was the people that got her so worked up - their faceless shapes and softly plodding tennis shoes haunted her dreams, trod through her mind every waking minute. It was almost too much for her, but she could n't stop. She knew they would watch her die if she went out on those sunlit streets. Whenever she had the displeasure of leaving her home, she flitted to and fro like a hummingbird so she could get back before the inevitable happened. Sylvia barely sat still at her doctor's appointments and squirmed worse than a toddler when she was in her daughter's car. Her hands constantly trembled. Despite the medication and the reassurances that she was fine, she knew she was n't. How could she be in a world like this? It had changed so much around her. The big, two story in the middle of a quiet block was now an antiquated little house in a row of equally antiquated houses on a busy street. First, the street grew wider and her yard grew smaller. Then the sidewalk grew wider and her yard grew even smaller. Cars zoomed by. People meandered up and down the large sidewalk going to their cheap Chinese restaurants and big box stores a block or two away. She might as well just invite them all in. Why, she could nearly touch them from her worn rocker positioned to look out of the large bay window at the front of the house. Despite all of her fears, she was simply fascinated to watch these people go by, like a deer in headlights. She would sit there, rocking, daydreaming and mumbling to herself for hours, only breaking to get another glass of water from the kitchen or to reluctantly greet whichever family member or delivery man dropped by. Recently, her children had been coming by, seemingly just to express unfounded concerns. They would tell her she'd grown too thin, that she needed to get back to gardening, and she would tell them that she was old, her tolerance for people was gone and she was fine. On and on it would go. She knew her kids thought she was terribly depressed with Ed being gone, but the cancer had taken him years ago. She did n't see what there was to worry about. The house was nice. There was n't a speck of dust to be found anywhere and despite her gloomy nature, the walls had been coated in bright greens and blues recently. In fact, she could still smell the paint. Her clothes were kept and she always dressed impeccably. She even ate three meals a day. So what if the garden beds were all dirt? She could barely crouch down on her stool or hold a trowel well enough to dig. And she just did n't want to go outside anymore. She was too tired and all of those people were too much to deal with. Sylvia was sitting in her chair, hands anxiously wringing the arm rests when she heard a sound come from the enclosed porch. She went to see if it was the postman. Sometimes he came early on Thursdays. But when she poked her head out on the porch to look for the mail, she did n't see any. She closed the door and heard a `` mreow.'' Sylvia looked at the window that divided the inside of the house and the covered porch and saw a cat sitting on the sill. It was a mottled black and silver staring at her with blue eyes. Judging by the size, it had to be a male. She watched his maw open wide in another questioning meow, faintly hearing it through the glass. Incensed, she opened up the door and said, `` Oh. Who let you in here? Shoo! Shoo!'' The cat stood up off the sill and hissed at her before darting through a sizable hole in the front screen door. She would have to get that fixed. Just then the postman opened the door of her porch. `` It looks like your cat got out,'' he observed. `` It's not mine,'' she said. She snatched the mail out of his hands before retreating inside to get away from the people on the sidewalk. She could feel their burning stares on her skin. It felt like beetles crept up and down her arms. She resolved to tape up the screen door when there were fewer people around that night. Then she would find the appropriate repairman in the phone book, or on the Google like her son had shown her. But when she went back that night, he was there, body fully outstretched on the large window sill. `` Get out of here, you vagrant,'' she said. She expected him to flee as before but he just sat there looking at her, eyelids half closed. He looked content and nearly asleep. Sylvia tried to look menacing as she stepped toward him, but it appeared he was no longer afraid of little, gray-haired ladies. `` Shoo!'' She prodded him and he hit her with his paw. Sylvia expected to feel the bite of pain from his claws going through her thin skin, but there was none. Amazingly, this cat was declawed. `` Your owners are probably looking for you.'' Feeling braver now, she picked him up and tossed him out of the porch, and then ducked quickly inside. She wiped off her hands and taped the screen door, spending as little time as possible outside. The porch afforded her some protection, but not enough. Unlike her heavily tinted windows that kept away prying eyes, people could easily see her in here. The cat was back the next day. The boy who dropped off her groceries asked if he should start bringing cat food for her new pet. `` No,'' she hastily said through the door crack. She watched him leave, picked up her groceries and ducked inside to be alone. She needed to figure out how to handle this cat situation. The repairman could n't come for two days and the cat had broken through the tape. He had also torn the hole a little wider. She could plainly see he was a nuisance. That night, she repeated much of what had happened the previous night. By the end of the weekend, it had become ritualistic - pick up the cat, throw it out, slam the door, tape up the hole and scurry inside. She had found placing things in front of the hole to prevent his entrance was n't helpful either because he simply tore the hole wider and wider and now the lower section of her screen door was flapping in the breeze when untaped. On Monday, the repairman came, fatally allowed the cat to come into the porch. When he knocked on the door and Sylvia answered, the cat took the opportunity to scurry inside. `` No!'' she nearly screamed. She did n't even register the man standing there and turned to pursue the sleek, muscular body of the cat. She watched his long, black and silver tail disappear around the corner, on his way to the kitchen. Sylvia was making herself a sandwich and did n't want that cat to tamper with it. But after taking two thunderous steps toward the kitchen she was stopped by a meek tap on her shoulder. `` Uh. Ma'am. I ca n't make the repair today. I need to order a replacement... I did n't realize it would be this bad,'' the repairman said. She was barely listening, too irritated by the thought of the cat coming into her private house and now this man was coming in here too, and leaving the door wide open for everyone to see her front room. `` I can help you get the cat?'' `` No thank you,'' she said, revolted by the thought of anyone or anything else being inside the house that was n't her or related to her. `` I'll see you when you can make the repair.'' She watched him leave and turned to go find this cat. `` Here kitty, kitty, kitty.'' He was nowhere. She searched high and low, cocked her head to hear any sounds, but all was still and silent. She tried leaving out some tuna on a plate but it only attracted flies and made the kitchen smell fishy so she threw it out. When her granddaughter called to chat, she walked around the house until she reached the end of the curly cord. Still, the cat refused to show himself. Sylvia began to resign herself to the fact that she would have to have people over to help her look. She got off the phone, feeling helpless, and walked out to the living room. The TV was on. She had n't left it on, but it's muted pictures filled the screen, casting flickers of light across the living room. It was some game show but she did n't pay attention to which one. She instantly renewed her search and quickly found the petulant animal sitting in her husband's favorite, green chair. It was lying half uncurled with his paw resting on the TV remote, face turned toward the screen, and suddenly she was laughing. Sylvia began laughing so hard that her sides hurt and she could hear herself echoing throughout the room. The cat looked at her through half closed eyes, unimpressed. `` Oh, Edward would have loved you dear,'' she finally said wiping tears from her eyes. Sylvia reached out to scratch the cat behind the ears and he purred. The cat had reminded her of all the nights her husband had sat in that very chair watching game shows. Even when the cancer was bad he would watch and mock the contestants and the hosts. He was simply hilarious. It was one of he reasons why Sylvia married him. Smiling, she went into the other room, picked up the phone, called the grocery store and told the boy he would have to start bringing cat food after all.
[ CW ] The coffee was still warm	It had been sitting there gathering a thin film of oily dust that coated the top of the pitch black drink and created a foggish appearance that gave Donovan V. Morbid a flash of memory regarding the way a haze would sit on the edge of the waves in the beggining of the early morning when he lived on the edge of the east coast in the little town of Firefeld, Maine where he grew up, broke his arm, got his first kiss, got into his first drunken brawl, got his first of many factory and cannery jobs, met his wife, and decided that nothing in his life mattered because he had never gone anywhere had never done anything had never been exceptional, even though his wife and his mother and his step-father always patted him on the back about his lovely painting which he hated because to him `` It just is n't real enough,'' and who wants a representational painting with no truth in it and he considered the coffee with its haze over it and wondered if he could hold its essence in brushstrokes as he reached out to touch it. The coffee was still warm. He picked it up by its handle and dumped it out. He poured a new cup from the carafe on hand and called `` Juliet! I poured you a new cup of coffee!'' and she replied, `` What was wrong with the one I'd poured?'' from inside the suite style bathroom that connected the bedroom and the living room, doors on either side. `` It had dust in it.'' He closed the kitchen window. Flecks of floating dust settled on the window.'Thnick, thnick' they said. They had some weight. Like snow, maybe. Instead, the thin grey clotted. The window grew full. Donovan peaked out. The sky was dropping. To him, it looked like dandruff. They would n't be spending this Saturday outside. Donovan sighed. `` Hey, Juliet!'' `` What?'' she said behind him, having snuck up. She fiddled with her earrings. She saw what he was seeing. `` Huh. Picnic is canceled then, eh?'' She gave him a peck on the cheek. `` Better call the in-laws, hon.'' She took the coffee, whispered a quiet'thanks' and headed to the couch where she took up reading the book she had started last night. Donovan crossed his arms as he stared out the window, his own stance reminding him of his father when he was coaching Little League, and immediately dropped his hands to his side so that he stood limply in a way that brought back memories of Jyles Mennard who was crushed in the cannery by a recycler when he stuck his hand in, and then his body to try to reach the thick metal bar that was stuck upright and keeping the crushing ceiling of the recycler from pressing down on the hundreds of discarded cans destined to eventually hold a brand of canned trout that no one, even in Firefeld, Maine, even wanted to buy but, because of continued government subsidies, refused to stop being produced, which led Jyles Mennard, twelve year old Donovan V. aptly-named-Morbid looking on, to reach deep into the monster's throat to dislodge the offending object, and promptly be crushed, and that memory forced Donovan to fold his arms again because for as much as he would rather not think of his biological father coaching Little League it was better than Jyles Mennard being crushed to death and hanging limply, arms to his side. He poured himself a cup of coffee. He turned to join Juliet for a quiet day on the couch, but stopped. He opened the cabinet over the sink, pushed aside the Comet and Draino, and picked up his hidden bottle of Jim Beam. He poured a shot's-worth in his coffee, because he could stand Juliet telling him to go to AA again, but not memories of Jyles Mennard and his days of Little League with coach dad. He replaced the bottle, closed the cabinet, and walked into the living room. Juliet smiled up from her book. He would sneak another drink later, he told himself, but for now he would put on a good show and smile at his wife. He sat in front of his easel. He set down his coffee on the floor, picked up the brush, and stared out the window to watch the dust fall, higher and higher up the walls. He opened the grey paint and wondered.
[ WP ] Every mirror on Earth is actually a view of an alternate universe where everything is reversed . You find a way into this universe .	May 29, 2015 10:27 pm Today is Michelle's birthday ( Happy Birthday, Sweetheart! ). As always, for her birthday she woke up early to make me breakfast in bed. I asked her why for HER own birthday, she always serves ME breakfast in bed as a surprise and her answer was a simple, `` because I love you!''. She is the best. After sharing the pancakes and sausages with Michelle, I took her to the zoo. A month ago, a lion exhibit was installed ( her favorite animals ), something I have been hoping that she would n't find out about since it was first announced in December. Lucky for me, it was a complete surprise and a kind gentleman took a picture of the two of us in front of the exhibit. After the zoo, I took her to her favorite restaurant for a late-lunch/early-dinner where I read my list of top ten favorites memories of the past year together since her last birthday. She started begging to know what my gift to her was, so I took her to the park near the house she grew up in, the park where we first... well, YOU know. I sat her down on a bench by the small lake and told her to close her eyes. Now, I can finally write about what I've been working on for the past three months. I have n't written about this JUST IN CASE she ever decides to sneak-a-peek into my journal ( and you know I would n't care if you did, sweetheart. I hold nothing from you. I love yoo! ). I've been carving a wooden necklace since just before Valentines Day. I carved smooth wooden tubes and strung them around some twine, and at the center is a larger, rectangular block-shaped piece of wood about two to three inches long, and into THAT I carved the quadratic formula ( of course, I know I do n't need to explain why to YOO; ) ). She could obviously tell it was a necklace, but after opening her eyes and finally seeing it, she was absolutely overcome. I could n't have hoped for a better reaction. She threw her arms around me, gasping and near to shrieking. It was simply the best feeling. May 30, 2015 11:36 pm I got called into work today at 5 am. Dipshit Sebastian decided to abandon post mid-shift. Does n't even tell anybody, just bails, and wo n't answer his phone. Thanks, asshole. So after finishing his shift and then having to do my own immediately after, I was completely wrecked by the time I got home. I could tell Michelle was disappointed when I was too tired to even finish watching LOTR with her from the night before, but she was incredibly sweet to me and rubbed my back until I fell asleep. I woke up just an hour ago, and she was already asleep. So I was fucking around online a bit, waiting to get tired again when I found `` Dimension Jumping''. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but it reminded me of my friend James from High School. The `` for dummies'' guide said to use a mirror and a candle. I would n't have thought anything of it and moved on to the next crazy internet story, except for something James had told us about years ago. James and I were friends in Elementary School, and stayed friends until midway through High School, when he just suddenly... changed. He grew up in a poor family and did n't have many friends. He was quiet, and I found out after graduation from another friend that his mother was an abusive alcoholic. It made me feel bad that we stopped hanging out, but the guy just... changed. One day, he's his usual quiet, sarcastic self, the next he's talking about aliens and conspiracy theories and just got weird. What can I say? I was n't Mr. Popular myself, and I watched Star Wars once or twice too many times to even hope to have a girlfriend, but even I started to feel embarrassed by him. One day he tells us he is n't the James we grew up with. This was a few months after he started acting different, and I think he knew we had been ditching him and generally trying to avoid him. I think it was an irrational attempt to `` save the friendship''. He gave us this ludicrous story about staring in the mirror late one night with a candle and suddenly entering `` our'' dimension. He said he was still James, but his life was different where he came from. I do n't remember exactly what he said, but I remember him saying that his mom had been dead for years, then the next, after the night with the mirror, she was suddenly alive again. He even said we were all different too. I do remember him saying that in Middle School, I had almost died after being hit by a car. I knocked my head so hard I was laid up in a coma for a month or so, and it had left me brain damaged. I guess one of the weirdest parts of it was that I do remember that about the time he changed, he was acting really enthusiastic toward me, almost like he was... happy for me. So... I think I'll try it. If nothing else, being in the dark with only a candle and no computer and no t.v. might help my brain relax and I can fall back asleep. May 31 2015 Work woke me up early today. Sebastian left in the middle of the night AGAIN. I cant believe they did not fired him. Then they made me stay after I finished his shift to work another FULL shift, even though I dont work on Sundays. Today I wanted to watch the LORT movies with Michele, but she did not want to watch them with me. She said it was too much trouble watching long movies with me because I lose track of whats happening, and shes tired of explaining things to me every time. It hurt my feelings alot, because we always watch those movies together for her birthday. She also wasnt wearing my present. This hurts alot to write, but when I asked her why she was n't wearing it, she did n't even know what I was talking about. I couldnt believe it. When I told her about my wooden necklace with the math formula, she just laughed at me, and Ill never forget this, said `` like you cuold remember the qwadratic formula.'' Theres something wrong, but I cant figure it out. I feel really tired, I think its because I did not get enough sleep for the last two days. Maybe Im getting sick. I do have a headache. ~~June 1 2015~~ May 31 2015 Today I thought it was Monday, but its actually Sunday. I went to work and they asked why I was there, then someone told me what day it is. But I dont understand it. ~~Yesterday was Mich~~ The DAY BEFORE YESTERDAY was Micheles birthday. I have my journal entries to prove it, but the weird thing is that I dont remember writing some of the things in here. Iv been looking at some of the things and parts of it I dont remember doing at all. I told Michele but she just said that `` of course you dont remember.'' I asked her what she meant and she knocked me on the head and sayd `` duh, your brain damage? Its the same reason we dont watch long movies.'' And then she SMOKED A CIGARETE! Im going to call in sick tomorrow, my head is still hurting, and Michele is being mean this weekend. Maybe its her special `` girl time''. But I dont understand why she would start smoking. June 7 2015 My head always hurts. Sometimes I remember things that never happened. Sometimes I remember doing things with Michele that she doesnt remember. Sometimes I feel like Im smarter than I really am. Michele says if I dont go back to work next week, Im going to get fired. June 30 2015 Ive been reading my journal alot. I think I know what happened to me. I was someone else. I think my mirror and me traded places. Except my mirror is happy, and Im not. I stare at the mirror every night after Michele goes to bed. She doesnt like to talk to me very much, and she smokes alot. I dont like it. I asked her to stop and she got mad at me. Maybe I wasnt smarter before. If I was smart, I wouldnt have traded places to be here. I want to go back home.
[ WP ] A simple traffic stop gone terrestrial .	Galorif gurgled. Had he been human, he'd have sighed. He pulled his ship out of the traffic, out of the way of the other ships, beside the spacelanes and parked next to an asteroid. He extruded a pseudopod and pulled out his license and registration. How very depressing. With all the technology of the galaxy, with data links to personal devices with yottabyte bandwidth and superluminal speeds, they still required a piece of paper. Three actually. He took out the paper and rose from his seat. He slurfed his way to the airlock and waited. He was to remain in the spacecraft but had to hand off, ha!, the license, registration and proof of insurance. The police cruiser docked with his little hauler with a kerklump and Galorif watched the pressure equalize. At least there were no exotic gases there. Perhaps this would n't be so bad, he burbled. The police cruiser's airlock opened. And in stepped the cops. Ah sticky and splattering fecal matter. The cops were Yanards. `` Open the airlock door, citizen.'' He extruded a pseudopod and brace himself for what was coming. He began to ooze. His people oozed when nervous. It was far from flattering, but these cops were Yanards. He held out the required information. Please, Please let this go smoothly. The cops saw he was a Horka. They tensed. You could see in their frills: they'd gone stiff and pointed away from him. Oh splatter dash... They examined his documents and then turned to him. Distaste was in their orbs. `` We need to take a look around your ship. We have reports of a ship matching this description being stolen from a Yavik. We were given access codes to prove whether or not a given ship is the stolen one.'' He both relaxed and tensed. He did n't know any Yaviks and never done business with one. His ship was n't the stolen one. He'd bought it off his mother who had bought it from a Svrah 30 years ago and the Svrah, a family friend, had bought it new. He was still worried about the idea of Yanard cops on his ship though. He acquiesced: the last thing he wanted was a scene or to get roughed up. He motioned them in. The cops motioned him ahead of them. He wanted to protest, but, again, no scene. They followed behind. It really was n't a good idea. But... yep. They slipped and fell. Horkas leave slime trails and the bots would normally clean it up, but after the Horka had passed. They were mad, but did n't say anything. They poked and prodded and examined. His ship was n't the missing one and he could tell how unhapy they were about that. He led them back to the airlock, as per their request, they were nearly there when... `` Look what I found!'' one of the cops said. Surprised, Galorif turned back to the cops. The taller cop was holding a little bag. `` Dried human tears. You know how much this goes for on the market, blub?'' Galorif freaked and spasmed. he did n't traffic in drugs! He would NEVER go to Earth! The place was under quarantine! The War on Alien Drugs made contacting humanity impossible! If they cried, a single droplet would addict almost any sentient by contact! DRIED human tears was the worse! It was a permanent incarceration! One of Galorif's panicked spasms thrust a pseudopod at the nearest cop. It was n't intentional. It was physiological! He was a Horka! Even so, the cop reacted quickly and pulled his piece. `` DOWN! GET DOWN!'' Galorif flattened his body to the deck as fast as he could. Even so, the cop fired the stunner and he all but drooled bodily all over the deck. Coherence was not an option. The one cop turned to another and motioned at the body camera. The second responded, `` Yeah, our falls destroyed them. Let's plant the evidence. We'll rig the computers so they respond to the codes, hack the feeds so they're down. Leave the dried tears. We'll get our bonus! Then, profit!'' Galorif spasmed. He had to do something. But could not. Cops. Damned dirty cops. Did n't matter where you were, there they were.
[ WP ] The year is 2018 . Hell is real and was accidentally discovered by drilling a massive borehole . Tell me about a military incursion in the underworld from the perspective of one of its many inhabitants .	I'd been tangled in the razor wire for all eternity. Every time I moved it dug deeper into my flesh; and yet I had no choice but to move, because They were after me. I could always feel them behind me, their breath on my neck, the trample of their feet. They wanted revenge, and the only escape is deeper into the wire. The cacophony of war has rang in my ears for all existence. It's no wonder I did n't notice the newcomers when they arrived. I was only aware of something new when the silence came. After eons of thunderous pain, it stopped. For the first time in all the time that I could remember, I forgot the wire around me, Them behind me, and I listened. `` Do n't move, sir. I'm here to get you out.'' I had a moment of panic. Was it one of Them? No. It was a soldier. And he was... he was cutting the wire! My agony was ending. Even after an eternity of pain, the minutes of watching him methodically cut and remove layers of wire still felt unbearably long. But then I was free! My foot reached forward to take a step and I found myself falling. The soldier caught me and carefully lowered me to my knees. `` Take it easy,'' he instructed as he offered me a bottle of water. `` It's going to take some time.'' I thanked him, and took a cautious drink. Thirst had been my constant companion for so long that I had forgotten that I could be without it. I felt more alive in that moment than ever before. Slowly and with much assistance, I rose to my feet. As I straightened my back, I lifted my head to look this soldier in the eyes. His brow furrowed and he took a step back. `` What's your name?'' `` Hitler. Adolf --'' His rifle was shouldered faster than I thought possible. I had just enough time to admire the man's training, and wonder what would be in the next world.
[ EU ] ( Yu-Gi-Oh ! ) At the climax of the second Cold War , Obama and Putin face off with their America/Russia themed decks .	In a world where everything from petty fights between angsty teenagers to international conflicts led by world leaders are settled through trading card games based on duel monsters, one showdown stands foremost in the annals of history: the epic face-off between President Barack Obama of the United States of America and President Vladimir Putin of the Russian Federation. The one duel to end the second Cold War. One duel for all the cards, figuratively speaking. `` Wait, if it's a Cold War, why the hell are they actually dueling? Would n't they just pussyfoot around the matter with threats of invading America with Snowman Eaters, or Russia with Absolute Crusaders? Proxy warfare between guerrilla duelists supporting each others' enemies would be acceptable! Even in this world, there should be some semblance of deterrence!'' `` They're dueling because I said so, Billy. Now shut up and let me finish my story!'' `` Okay,'' Billy acquiesced. Now, where was I? Obama and Putin met on neutral ground in South Africa to settle this game. Both leaders' decks were reviewed by a team of neutral parties and approved for the duel. They met at the center of the arena and exchanged niceties before turning 180 degrees and marching ten paces to the opposite ends of the stadium. The crowd watched in suspense, stirred by the importance of this battle as much as by the intense heat. Presidents Obama and Putin turned at the referee's signal, withdrew their duel disks, and exclaimed, `` It's time to duel!'' `` So what happens from there?'' `` Billy, stop interrupting me and just let me finish. You'll have the answers to that question soon enough.'' Billy was noticeably agitated at the fact that over 5 minutes had passed since I started the story, and yet the actual duel had n't happened yet. Worry not, we'll get there soon. And by soon, I mean right now! Each duelist drew 5 cards and began the game. President Obama took the first turn. His hand consisted of 3 Spell Cards, 1 Trap Card, and 1 Monster Card. `` Alright Mr. Putin, I'll start this duel in true American fashion. I activate the Field Spell Card, Cultural Melting Pot! As long as this card remains face-up on my side of the field, all face-up monsters on my side of the field gain 300 ATK and DEF for each face-up monster on my side of the field with a different Type than that monster. Additionally, at my End Phase, if I control at least two face-up monsters with a different Type, I can add 1 monster from my Deck to my hand, whose Type is different from any Type of monster currently on my field. From there, I'll activate another Spell Card, Reinforcement of the Army! This card lets me add one Level 4 Warrior-type monster from my Deck to my hand. I'll add Freedom Fighter and then Normal Summon it!'' > Freedom Fighter/Level 4/Warrior/EARTH/Effect/1600/1000 President Obama continued, `` When Freedom Fighter is successfully Normal Summoned, I can Special Summon one Justice Eagle from my Deck in Defense Position. Additionally, I chain the effect of Kagetokage in my hand to the effect of Freedom Fighter, which allows me to Special Summon it when I Normal Summon a Level 4 monster! Kagetokage will also be summoned in Defense Position.'' > Justice Eagle/Level 4/Winged-Beast/LIGHT/Effect/1000/2000 > Kagetokage/Level 4/Reptile/DARK/Effect/1100/1500 `` I set two Spell or Trap Cards face-down and proceed to my End Phase. At this time, I activate the effect of Cultural Melting Pot, choosing to add a non-Warrior/Winged-Beast/Reptile monster from my Deck to my hand. I'll add Presidential Task Force and then end my turn.'' > Presidential Task Force/Level 7/Rock/Effect/2600/2100 ___ > President Obama's Gamestate: > * 3 Monsters on field, all with +600 ATK/DEF ( Freedom Fighter has 2200 ATK, Justice Eagle has 2600 DEF, Kagetokage has 2100 DEF ) > * 1 Field Spell Card active > * 2 Set Spell or Trap Cards > * 1 card in hand `` Well done, Mr. Obama. You've set up an interesting assortment of obstacles for me to overcome. That said, Russia will persevere! My turn, draw!'' President Putin's hand consisted of 6 cards since he went second: 4 Trap Cards, 1 Monster Card, and 1 Spell Card. Putin continued his turn. `` Mr. Obama, are you familiar with the concept of knowing when to hold your cards until the time is right? You've played three monsters on the first turn, all strengthened by that Field Spell of yours, but you only have one card in hand. What would happen if I were to tear your field apart?'' `` I guess we'll have to see, Mr. Putin,'' President Obama replied. `` Hmm... very well. I'll activate the Spell Card Dark Hole! This Spell Card will destroy all monsters on the field!'' `` Not so fast, Mr. Putin! See, politics can sometimes get dirty, and while I'm not one to stoop to breaking the law, I will use whatever means necessary to win this duel! I chain Dark Bribe to your Dark Hole. You get to draw 1 card from your Deck, but in exchange, your Spell Card's activation is negated and destroyed!'' `` But Mr. Obama, you let me dig one card deeper to protect your monsters. And Russia is not without its resources to take this duel from you. Draw!'' It was at this point that Billy decided to act on his usual terrible timing and yell, `` Booooooooooooring. You're a terrible storyteller, sir! Just skip to the good stuff and leave out all this technical crap!'' At this point, I was exasperated with Billy, but I knew I needed to keep his and the rest of my audience's focus to finish this tale, so I relented and skipped to the climax of the duel. `` Alright Billy, as you wish. I'll skip to the final turn of the duel.'' President Putin had just unleashed an onslaught of cards on President Obama. He controlled five monsters ( all of which were either bears, special forces, or snow monsters ) and had 3000 Life Points, compared to President Obama's 100 Life Points. President Obama had Presidential Task Force on the field, but had lost all of his other cards on the field and in his hand, so he needed his deck to pull ~~deus ex machina bullshit~~ a miracle. `` Mr. Putin, although I may be battered, I am not broken, and I will bring victory to America! Draw!'' And Mr. Obama, with one of those exaggerated drawing motions these kinds of duelists are known for, took the top card from his deck and smiled. `` Mr. Putin, are you familiar with the concept of topdecking? You seemed all too happy to lecture me on my use of cards before, but it looks like today's victory is mine. I'll fight your Russian Winter with fire! I activate the Spell Card Fire Raid! This card inflicts 400 damage to my opponent for each monster on their side of the field, leaving you with 1000 Life Points. And you remember the effect of my Presidential Task Force, right? When I inflict damage to my opponent, whether through battle or by effect, I can Special Summon Special Assault Team from my Deck!'' > Special Assault Team/Level 1/Warrior/EARTH/0/0 `` What?!'' President Putin was noticeably enraged, knowing that none of the monsters on his side of the field could negate the effect of Special Assault Team. `` This is it, President Putin! You're finished, and the United States of America will see its proposals acted upon! Special Assault Team's effect activates! When Special Summoned by the effect of Presidential Task Force, it can Tribute itself to destroy all monsters on your side of the field! The only downside to this is that I can not Special Summon for the rest of this turn. But my Battle Phase is intact! I switch Presidential Task Force to ATK Position and attack your Life Points directly, ending the duel!'' And so that is the ( admittedly abridged ) tale of President Obama vs President Putin. Although Russia remained a sovereign nation, the United States was able to see several of its demands fulfilled. `` What the hell was that?'' Billy was, as usual, noticeably upset. `` That was a horrible way to end the duel! Obama was thoroughly outclassed by Putin but had some cheap bullshit card that just so happened to help him win the game. This sounds just like those scripted television shows. Your story sucks!'' `` Well Billy, that's how it is. But you know, I heard Putin wanted a rematch with Obama, so maybe next time things will go differently.'' Billy agreed, but followed, `` Hopefully next time, it's not you who's telling the story.''
[ WP ] Everyone is born with an item that houses their life , representative of their personality . When the object is destroyed , the person dies .	Greg is only 5 years old. While asleep he would dream of the tooth fairy coming at night, replacing a dollar for his tooth every single night. Three teeth have already dropped and he was very proud of his 3 dollars. One Night the tooth fairy did not come in his sleep. Instead, it was a three red eyed black snake the size of a cat. The snake seemed half ghost as his tail was not physically visible. The Snake started hissing and moving towards Greg who was laying in his bed.The snake took the tooth and replaces it with a ring, a red gold ring. The next morning Greg woke up and under his pillow he found the ring, that same ring from his dream. He started to cry as he did not want to see the snake again. He threw the ring on the floor and suddenly felt a sharp pain in his ribs. The ring has a small scratch on it. Greg picked up the ring and threw it on the floor again to release his anger suddenly his leg felt a sharp pain. He picked up the ring to show his mom who was in a hurry for work. `` Mom, look, I found this ring under my pillow!''. As his mom was looking at it she started to cry. She has the same one. `` Mom, my ribs hurt'' He said `` Mom stop crying!'' She immediately took the ring and placed it on the table away from Greg. `` Mom I dreamed of a snake who put the ring under my pillow'' `` Listen Greg, forget everything about the snake and the ring. everything will be fine.'' A tear from her eyes dropped on the floor. The moment it hit the kitchen tiles it turned to a black puddle of water the snake was slowly appearing from it. Both his mom and him screamed as the snake grew larger and started curling around both of them. His mom tried to breath but the snake has curled around her mouth. She fell down trying to get a hold of the table only for the ring to fall down. `` AAAAAAAAA'' Greg screamed and so did the snake. The snake has looked to be in pain just as much as Greg. His mom grabbed the ring again and this time threw it on the floor even harder. Both Greg and the snake screamed even harder and started showing red marks on their skins. The mom realized that the ring hurts both her son and the devilish snake. Yet if she does not kill the snake it will kill them both and the only way to kill it, is by destroying the ring. If to destroy the ring you would also kill you own son. If you were the mom what would you do?
[ WP ] You can only lie . In fact , when you try to speak the truth , the universe rewrites itself so that it 's a lie .	Like every Saturday morning, Jacob sat a small kitchen table in his studio apartment while the morning sun worked hard to break through the broken blinds of the window above him. He sat taking in nearly all he owned in the world... old couch ( had he bought it? Or was it here when he moved in and he just never bothered to replace it? ) Possible the only living TV that was older than he was. The coffee table his neighbor tried to throw away. An old stack of magazines and a few over-read books. Like every Saturday he lets memories flick through his mind. Nothing is a complete thought. It's like he's always starting a movie from the middle and changes the channel just before the end. He's never sure where one memory starts and one stops. He's always trying to connect dots between people and places. Who, of his friends, has met whom? Where did he first meet them? When did he see them last? This torturous blurred reel of thoughts. It's his Saturday tradition. He let's the memories flick through their routine order. ( If only he knew if the order were routine or actually chronological ) `` Dana.'' The word escapes his mouth almost involuntarily as a flash of her face punches him in the gut. He allows himself to trail her memory for as long as it will go. He met Dana while he was working at a diner. ( Journalism is a tough gig to get going. He needed something to pay the bills while he waited on a story to get picked up. ) It was one of those newer diners that was attempting to look like a greasy spoon in decor but served a $ 15 grilled cheese with 3 kinds of french brie, cranberry compote ( you're not allowed to call it sauce if you charge $ 15 ) and arugula that would make you swear off all other food. Dana worked at a startup design studio across from the greasy-chic diner. She came in almost everyday during the lull between lunch and dinner. How did he ever get up the nerve to talk to her? Did it start with niceties? Did she engage the conversations to begin with or did he? Regardless of how he became intertwined in her avocado-toast-of-the-day lunch ritual, there he was... entranced in watching her neatly cut her avocado toast and poached egg with salmon row special with a knife and fork while recanting the story of how she got the tiny scar on her right wrist. ( When she was six, she attempted to fly by dumping fairy dust - glitter - all over her, yelling `` Dive bomb!'' and taking a giant leap from the top of a slide believing with absolutely all her heart that she was about to soar into space and landed wrist first on that awful playground mulch. ) He recalled their chats day after day - months? Could it have been months? He tried to look past her face in his minds eye to see out the window. Were the seasons changing? Was it weeks they talked? Months? Was she maybe just there for a few days? Every day while anticipating her arrival he'd think of things he wanted to know about her while setting up the restaurant. `` Tell me more about your sister. Are you guys still close?'' `` Do your parents still pressure you about going back to college and finishing your masters?'' `` What was the name of that giant dog you had growing up? Is he still alive?'' He'd have a list of questions he could n't wait to ask her. It was n't that her answers were so unique or unexpected. It was the way she talked about everything... her dog, her parents, the house she lived in when she was eight ( it had a spiral staircase and banister perfect for sliding down! Every 8-year-olds dream! ) Everything in her life received her singular devotion and undivided love. She talked about every dog she ever owned as if it were the only dog to ever exist. Every house she ever lived in was the safest place and grandest adventure waiting to be discovered. Everything she did, she did out of pure devotion and Jacob could n't get enough of it. One day Dana came in - smiling like she knew a secret. She sat at the counter ( not her usual booth ) looked him in the eye and said `` Jacob, I love you.'' Like an old-fashion film reel that gets nudged off track, the memory flips through this scene over and over while getting fuzzier and fuzzier. `` Jacob, I love you'' He'd replayed her saying it a thousand times in his head. He could watch her eyes continue to lock on his. For just a second they brighten and then nothing. Did I say it back? Did I smile back? Say something you idiot.
[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb Edition	Wrote my first response to [ a prompt ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4h6wuy/wp_humanity_has_become_interstellar_upon_reaching/ ) last night, please tell me how much it could be better: -- -- It's been years upon years, Our greatest minds spinning gears upon gears. All of that work put forth for just one purpose; To explore the vastness of space, to acquire some purchase In that dark void; cold, empty, and bleak. Because we believed we were the underdogs, and we vied for the peak Of that intergalactic ladder of success. A war fought between species, fighting to contest To be on the top of that high and mighty pedestal, To hold that special spacial medal. All that just so we could proclaim in jest That humanity was in fact the best. And our work was not in vain, For we got to space, after all the strain was shouldered by our thinkers and our tinkers. And boy, if you listened to those rockets, heard their timbre You'd also stare in awe, no matter what compass point you're from At how far humanity had come. But once we got there, not a sound was heard. Those aboard wondered if their competition deferred. After all, we could n't be atop the ladder, straddling the highest rung. For centuries, we'd been told that numerous aliens were living among Our Milky Way, and we were just one of the little guys. Pawns to be played with by stronger powers while ignoring our cries, But once we got here, among the stars, including ours, Past the atmosphere, the Moon, our neighbor Mars, Past Jupiter, Neptune and beyond we were finally shown That we, in the universe, were basically alone.
[ WP ] It has been verified that dying will result in going to heaven , no matter what . You are the government , trying to lower the suddenly skyrocketing suicide rate .	Until a year or so ago I would have continued to be a part of the masses that shrugged their shoulders and continued life with about the same consideration I have for breakfast. It ’ s either there or not there, so be it. The very thought of anything spiritual or transcendent was merely hogwash that occupied the untrained mind. That was until the Angel descended from the sky.I got to catch a glimpse as it levitated in the sky above the park around our office building and announced with blazing wings of light from a tome made of constant fire, that Heaven is real, the gates are open and you can come in anytime you ’ d like. To tell you the truth I never anticipated how quickly people gleefully killed themselves in such a short span of time. I never saw the actual numbers, but I ’ m sure that was at least three fourths of the population perished in the first few minutes. Now the predicament I am in has nothing to do with traveling to the realm of God. Sure I ’ m curious about Heaven. I ’ d like to know if it was worth the journey, but whether it ’ s a one way trip or they ’ re just having too much fun, I ’ m not too sure. I just feel as though it ’ s a little hypocritical for me to take my own life since as a Government Suicide Hotline Operator, I ’ ve spent many hours of my life convincing others not to. The few calls I got after the angel had nothing to do with avoiding suicide at all. Most inquired about the most pain free and quick ways to do it. Others mistakenly called when they wanted to order their last pizza. I tried a few times to stretch my anti suicide muscles, although like you would imagine, It ’ s hard to compete with a guilt free trip to the beyond. The last call I received a few nights ago was from an automated machine for life insurance. It hummed and clicked peacefully through it ’ s slogan with a polite woman ’ s voice. There was a strange sensation in hearing this voice. I imagined her as an isolated beige box in an office closet. Cold calling dead lines continually until either the power runs dry or it ’ s gears seize up. I apologized to this one human like voice and declined it ’ s insurance policy. Life insurance now a days is very impractical. Money and life are the least valuable resource available. I thought of taking my life out of boredom. Before commencing my own one way trip. I wanted one last chance to wander through the park. I remember the air being delightfully crisp, and the only sounds heard were from various birds and small mammals exploring a now empty world. Inside the park the flowers and vines were growing out of control on the opposite side of the street they began to slowly creep up the tall buildings. Staring at those buildings is where the reality of the situation hit me. I thought of the billions of people entering Heaven, i imagined them making the first Heavenly skyscraper, the first heavenly human society, and I wondered how long it would take them to get restless and look to the sky towards a distant Earth and wonder how they could get back. -- -- -- Sorry about formatting. Every time I tried to correct the spacing it twisted and spaced in bizarre ways.: (
[ WP ] An immortal challenges Death to a battle for the right to die	I look down at the tombstone in front of me. Bernice Algernon is the name that looks back at me. Off to the right, there are more tombstones. Four hundred and fifty three to be exact. One for each and every wife I've ever had. So much pain is present in this little plot of land. And so much joy. I turn from the marker and walk away. This is far from the first time I've walked away, but for some reason, I ca n't think of a reason I'd ever want to come back. I've seen a lot. War, peace, starvation, feast's, hate, love and everything in between. The gate of the cemetery is coming up. Just outside, Hugh is waiting by the door to the limo. I do n't know what he thinks of his employer. He has to have questions. Maybe it's time I sent him along to another, with a glowing letter of recommendation and a hefty sum of money. Ha, something so simple as money, but so vital at the same time. Wealth had not been an issue for me for some time now, but I could remember the times when there was never enough. The things that I'd had to do then... I climb into the back of the limo, and Hugh closes the door after me. For a moment, I'm completely alone inside the limo, and that's when it really hits me. Bernice is dead, and I'm alone. Again. The tears slip from my eyes, and I wipe them away. Some would ask why I grieve for a dead wife, when I have grieved for hundreds more. Surely I'd be used to it? Well, some people are idiots and will never understand. Back at the house, Hugh opens my door again. I exit the limo and head into my study. `` Will you be requiring anything else, sir?'' he asks. He's concerned. He really is worth every thing I've payed him over the years. `` No, that will be it for the evening,'' I reply. He nods, and leaves. He's been gone for about five minutes before I move again. I step over to the fireplace and look above the mantle. Two swords are hung there. `` Family Heirlooms'' they've been called. I've had each for a very long time now. One is a razor sharp rapier, while the other is an equally sharp great sword. How many men have I killed with each? Well, it's time to add one more. I take down the rapier and examine it more closely. Just as well balanced and well made as the day it was first placed into my hands. Ahh, Italy during the Renaissance. Such a beautiful time. Such a terrible time. I walk over to my desk and set the rapier aside. Taking out a sheet of paper and a pen, I quickly scribble a set of instructions and sign it at the bottom. I fold it up, and address it to Hugh. He'll see to it that everything is taken care of. Picking up the rapier, I move to the center of the room and sink down onto both knees. I grip the rapier and place the point directly over my heart. A quick thrust between the ribs and I'll be free forever. I tighten my grip and take my last breath. With a smile I push the point into my flesh. And stop. Nothing moved. But this was not the stillness that one recognizes while alone, this was something else. I however, knew exactly what was happening. Looking down, I saw that the point of the sword had not pierced my chest, but had stopped a hair short. I stood up, my grip on the handle tightening. `` Alright, you bastard! Come out so I can see you!'' I scream at the empty room. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, with no pomp or ceremony, he appeared. It was n't as if he had opened a door and stepped through. Instead, it was as if he simply allowed himself to be seen. He certainly looked the part. A robe so black that it made normal black just look like an unpromising amateur. In one gloved hand, a long handled scythe. His face was in shadow, but from deep within, there were two pinpoints of pure white. I level the sword at him and growl, `` What the hell are you up to?'' YOU ARE NOT YET READY. `` Like hell I'm not!'' YOUR CONTRACT DOES NOT ALLOW IT. `` The terms of my contract were that you would not take me until such time as my choosing. This is me choosing!'' NO IT IS NOT. THE CONTRACT WAS FOR WHEN YOU WERE READY. YOU ARE NOT YET READY. `` Then what do I have to do to be ready?!?'' I spit at him. `` I've lived more than ten thousand years, and I. AM. READY.'' For a moment, simply silence. Then... IF YOU ARE TRULY READY, YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO DEFEAT ME AS YOU ONCE DID. I glare at him. `` Fine,'' I hiss. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO LOSE ON PURPOSE. I WILL KNOW. I do n't hesitate. With a speed that once would have left everyone in the dust, I thrust the rapier straight at Death's cruel heart. I knew he did n't actually have one, but at that moment, I hated him to much to care. With a clang, he deflected the rapier with his scythe blade. Recovering, he swept the blade at me, forcing me to duck. Old skills reawakened, and I thrust again, even faster than before. Again he deflected. I stepped back, and swung directly overhead. He stepped aside, and struck at me with the butt of his weapon. It struck the side of my leg, but I was already moving. Using the momentum, I let the hit spin me around, and I attacked again, slashing at Death's hip. The pole of his scythe stopped the blade just short. I withdrew and reestablished my footing. We simply looked at each other for a moment. Then I charged him again. The rapiers handle drew up into the crook of my shoulder, with the point and blade directly parallel to the floor. Everything seemed to slow. Death swung his scythe, and I instinctively raised the rapier to block. I should have known better. The scythe's blade struck my rapier, and with a noise that could n't be described, only felt, sheared clean through it. At this point my forward momentum could n't be arrested, and I saw the blade swinging directly for my midsection. This was it, the end. The blade cut through me even easier than it did my sword. I felt nothing, at first. Then a terrible warmth that began to spread throughout my body. I fell down on to my knees and looked up into the eyes of Death. They gazed back at me without pity or remorse. Instead, I had the strangest feeling he was looking at me with pride. `` Thank you...'' I said, the words dropping off, as I closed my eyes for the last time. When I opened them again, I looked at Death standing before me. Gone was the skeletal figure in a robe. In its place was a kind faced man in a well fitting suit. He smiled at me and said, `` You are welcome, my son.''
[ WP ] Your alone in a rundown overgrown apartment complex twist is , There is a xenomorph in there with you .	Ever so slowly, the black chitin covered alien horror inched towards me as I typed on the computer. The screen barely illuminated the small cluttered room, but it was the only light source there. There was no sound as the monstrosity loomed over my shoulder and opened its glistening jaws to reveal another smaller set of razor sharp teeth that extended outward until it was less than an inch from my ear. An in a posh English accent, it spoke, `` My goodness! Look at the grammar mistakes! This is terrible. You even misused the old'your' and'you're' contraction. This is the worst! It should read, and I quote,'You're, the one with the apostrophe contracting the words'you' and'are', alone in a rundown, comma, overgrown apartment complex. Period. The twist is, comma, there is a xenomorph in there with you.'' `` Now was that so difficult, I ask?'' `` Arrghh!'' I shouted, adding, `` Go away, you alien grammar Hitler. If you want to do something useful, put on your apron and clean my room!'' `` I shall do no such thing,'' humphed the alien monster, `` your story leaves too much to open speculation. For instance, despite your name, you are not a bad-ass. You're just a banana on whose peel someone wrote the number sixty-nine. How did you even get into this apartment complex. What is it overgrown with? For that matter, how did I get here from space?'' With this realization, the xenomorph suddenly vanished in a puff or logic and smoke; leaving behind a laptop with an inanimate banana on it. Two seconds later, the banana exploded for no reason.
[ WP ] Checking out of the grocery store , your clerk turns to you and says `` I hate it when I see someone and know they 're going to die . ''	You try to place the eggs gently on top of the frozen pizzas. A few weeks ago you opened your eggs when you got home and they were all broken and cracked. You were going to make sure that did n't happen again so you could have your favorite omelette. Mmmmm you can smell it now. The spices and perfect cooking temperature -- all from a delicious 14th century French recipe. You push your cart back down the chilly aisle. The cold thankfully prevents your face from turning red from embarassment. Frozen pizzas. You have spent your life perfecting your culinary skills. You can cook a Szechuan tilapia hotter than a ghost chile using only two spices, a pan, and with one hand tied behind your back. You've found the most amazing recipes made by chefs from all countries from all ages. If there is anything about humanity that has remained constant in its long years, its our love for good food. You stand in line behind a woman with too many prepackaged foods. You give her your best silent wishes, pitying her probable lack of delectable meals at home. You almost miss the strange glances the cashier is giving you. Finally, you reach him. `` How's your day.'' He nearly drops several of your items as he glances at you over and over. `` Well...'' You wonder what his problem is. You look at your items. Oh no. `` Please, do n't judge me. The frozen pizzas are for my friends. I do n't eat frozen food.'' He prints out your check. Finally, he speaks. `` I hate it when I see someone and know they're going to die.'' Ok. So he's a little weird. `` I guess you must hate seeing everyone, eh?'' `` I sure do.'' You finish signing. `` But you're different.'' You drop the plastic pen, ripping your receipt out of the machine and give him a hurried parting glance as you push your cart out of the supermarket as fast as you can. How did he know?
[ WP ] At first , nothing happened . Then , nothing happened again . Then , without warning or any indication that anything at all was amiss , nothing happened .	Typical. Mundane. Ordinary. All adjectives that have come to describe my life. I am not that astronaut or pilot that an eight-year-old me once dreamed of becoming, but instead I ’ m stuck in the routine of a cubicle worker: day-in and day-out, set in the same old routine. I woke up that day, like all the others, at 6:30am, wriggling out a leg from beneath my covers, feeling the Autumn ’ s grip on my leg, before snapping my leg back in and hitting it against the foot-board. Every goddamn day I did this and never learnt -- the perks of being six foot tall, eh. After thirty more glorious minutes basking in the warmth of my covers, I decided it was time to remove my mind of the fantasies that dances in one ’ s head at six-in-the-morning, and threw myself out of my bed, with the hope of instilling some vigour into this mind-numbing morning of mine. After a quick shower, I had just about enough time to get dressed and swallow my breakfast before leaving for the bus at 7:45. The morning was grey, drab and dreary, the kind that fills you with a sense of dread, knowing that rain will fall, but not knowing exactly when. A torturous sort of weather when you think about it. I arrived at my stop with a supposed two minutes to spare, and noticed something out-of-place. There was a gorgeous woman sitting at the bus-shelter, presumably in anticipation of the rain, I wasn ’ t sure, but I sort of admired her from across the pavement. She was clad in a tanned leather jacket, a pretty summer dress beneath, and black leggings on her legs, with matching tanned shoes. Her hair was in contrast to the rather ordinary clothes, a fierce red, and, when she raised her head to flash an inviting smile, I noticed a freckled face and button nose – it was like one of those terrible romance films, far removed from my life. “ No matter, ” I thought to myself, “ she ’ d hardly be interested in you. ” This woman kept staring at her phone, head-phones in ears whilst periodically laughing quietly and smiling, before looking up – maybe at me, maybe not, I wasn ’ t too sure – and resuming playing with her phone. I watched her, whilst continuing to wait for my bus, and, after about five minutes – overstepping its usual three minute tardiness – this woman decided to stand up, beside me, and check the timetable. My heart was racing as I anticipated conversation – conversation with a stranger in the twenty-first century, can you believe it? “ What should we talk about? ” I thought frantically, before settling finally on the weather: a chiefly British topic – always there, always changing, always exciting, who doesn ’ t love to talk about the weather? I thought I heard the faint ringing of a phone, but, upon checking my pocket, found no indication that it was mine, and that ’ s when she decided to make her move. “ Hello! ” She said enthusiastically. “ Brilliant weather, eh! ” I said quietly, pointing to the sky, and, in my effusiveness, fearing that I looked a bit too much like a bad impression of Mr. Bean. Still looking at her phone, she laughed a bit too enthusiastically, so I had no idea if she was being sarcastic, or if I really did look a tit. After a few moments, I noticed the bus approaching out of the corner of my eye. “ Crap! ” I thought I ’ d better have one last stab at it. “ Are you getting this one, too? ” I enquired, clearly a lot less ambiguous than my last, gesticulating the bus with my hand. “ Yes, ” she replied – success! She ’ s talking to me! – before breaking my heart, “ some weirdo at the bus-stop is talking to me. ” Tearing her eyes away from her phone and staring at me, she said: “ What do you even want? ” I felt my cheeks flush, and I responded with a meek: “ Oh… nothing, that ’ s my bus. ” Before scrambling my briefcase and hailing the bus. When I looked back she was gone. Ah well, and so continues the routine. EDIT: just some typos.
[ IP ] Choose one of these black and white mugshots and tell a story .	http: //i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02878/mugshots-Oakey-Jac_2878159k.jpg I was never a man of action, not someone who is quick to anger. No, what I have is something I'd say is a slow burning temper. It builds up over days, weeks, Christ even months. It's how I got a reputation for being slow. I'm not a talker either so that did n't help. They're executing me in a few weeks and I do n't really mind too much. Miles Derek was never going to set the world alight. Even my Ma would say `` keep you're head down son, you're best being invisible.'' I was too, until I shot Parker. After that my face and name were everywhere. I meant to kill him, I just did n't mean to get caught. I'd followed him for a couple of days learning his routes. It was easy; his wife was dead and he lived alone, I thought that'd be the best place. On Friday night when the bars were kicking out I was waiting in his front room. I sat in the dark with the pistol on my lap in the pitch black. I was almost asleep when I heard the lock click. I aimed the gun and breathed deep. `` Miles... I'm, I'm sorry.'' He could barely make the words audible. I squeezed the trigger and hit his chest, the sound was awful. The deafening bang of the gun and then the strangled cry of the life leaving his body. He slumped down in the doorway allowing me to see the woman behind him. Hilda recognised me straight away but I panicked, I sat there uselessly. She backed away and I heard her car door opening. By the time I stepped over Parker's corpse she'd already started the car. I emptied the rest of gun's clip but only managed to destroy the wind shield. Standing there with the smoking gun in my hand I felt the full affect of what I had done. I still did n't feel any guilt and I still do n't. I went home and I waited. I thought about killing myself but I could not bring myself to do it. The police came the next morning and after I confessed they took me away in silence. I think they were expecting me to resist but it's not in my nature. I'm not that kind of man.
[ WP ] Due to the influx of killers , criminals and warlords there are now enough people in hell to stage a revolution .	Carl Bryant was doing Hell's books. His pen wrote with the blood of the damned - pretty decent to write with - filling ledgers with the names of those who had been admitted that day.His desk was piled with the notebooks, full of all the billions of souls in Hell. The job was part of his eternal punishment for being a pyramid schemer. Not that Hell did n't have enough bureaucrats. A white phone appeared on a cloud before him. He picked it up on the second ring. `` Heya, Dave.'' `` Carl! Heaven's blessing! How are things in the firey below? Had enough of the sulfur yet? I hope so! You know how it is here - 74 degrees, perfectly clear all day.'' Carl looked down at his own sweat-and-blood soaked shirt. `` Weather down here's as it usually is.'' `` Well that's just fantastic! Could I just get your most recent numbers? How many admittances in the past few months?'' `` Can you give me about a week to count? I'll have to go through the ledgers to give you an exact number.'' Carl heard the sound of Dave shifting and then opening a can of pop. `` Oh, they still having you do that by hand down there? Up here the number just pops into our head when we want it! The same with math. Never have to struggle over leaving a tip anymore. Want 7 percent? You've got it buddy!'' `` Still by hand. So can I call you in about a week?'' `` Sure thing! I'll just tell you ours. We've had about 650,000 admittances in the last three months. Anyway Carl, always a pleasure to talk to you! Enjoy Hell!'' The phone disappeared in a puff as Carl slumped over his desk. He spent the next three hours looking for the ledgers he needed. They kept running around. When he had finally located them all, he looked around for a space free enough to sit down. The room was small, expanding only when necessary to keep Carl cramped and uncomfortable throughout his eternity. Sighing, he set the ledgers on another stack and opened them, beginning to count the names. Four days later, when he had almost finished counting the names in the first ledger, the door slid open. `` Carl, you're on infant nightmare duty.'' `` I ca n't. Heaven needs our numbers from the last few months. Bureaucratic stuff, ca n't be helped.'' `` Dastardly Lucifer, you're worse than that DMV girl eternally damned to sort things into the Dewy Decimal system,'' fire spurt from the demon's mouth. Carl thought for a few moments. `` We have enough new recruits. Make one of them do it.'' `` They're no good though. They still have hope.'' Carl shrugged. `` Sorry. I'm reporting to the Big Guy upstairs.'' `` Tony? The fat one? I thought he got promoted to cloud surfing.'' `` I meant G --'' Carl started, but a force cut him off at the throat before he was able to finish. `` Oh right, ca n't say the Big Guy's name down here.'' `` Damn straight. How many names you up to now?'' `` Two million, seven hundred thirty six thousand and five.'' The demon began to say numbers at random. `` Fifty-seven. Eight million twenty thousand sixteen, two million seven hundred forty two thousand six hundred and twenty.'' The numbers left the demon's mouth quickly, and soon Carl found that he did n't remember how many names he had counted. `` Have fun,'' the demon slid the door back closed and Carl sighed. He turned back to the beginning of the first ledger and began to count the names again. From his office he had no concept of time. It did n't matter - he was always hungry and thirsty and always tired but he could never sleep. Such was being damned. The first ledger contained three million, four hundred thousand and twenty eight names. Carl wished he had the magical abilities of Heaven math. Instead he did things the old fashioned way - with blood ink and paper. He was so surprised with the result that he double checked it. Of course the number changed drastically to confuse him. But the idea was the same. Shuffling out of his office, he made his way up the narrow spiraling corridors of Hell. He caught the subway - which was perpetually jammed full of people and twenty-five minutes late - to go downtown. The subway broke down four times, and someone near him was n't wearing any deodorant. On his way up to fourth street he was chopped into bits when some teenage demons dropped knives above. As his limbs oozed back together - in the wrong order with his hand sticking out of his stomach, of course - he approached His Majesty's working place. `` I need to speak to Lucifer,'' he told the receptionist. She ignored him completely until he had repeated the request thrice more. `` You need to file a form 666B. We'll tear it up and you can do it again for a hundred years. After that there's a two week waiting list.'' `` It's regarding Heaven and our numbers. I have something His Majesty would be very pleased to hear.'' `` You need to file a form 667B. We'll tear it up and you can do it again for a hundred years. After that there's a two week waiting list.'' `` Wait, is it a form 666B or a form 667B?'' `` Try one and find out.'' `` You're the worst bureaucrat I've never met.'' `` NEXT.'' `` There's no one else he --'' `` NEXT.'' Carl sighed. `` Listen. In the past three months Heaven has had 650,000 admitted. We've had almost thirteen million. Do you know how many people there are here? People gave up believing in the... Big Guy... a while ago. And do you know how many small infractions land you in Hell? Anyone who's ever lied to their parents is here. That's basically the entire population. And all the politicians. And anyone who ever stole a grape from a supermarket, or torrented music or called someone a name on Reddit. `` We have the numbers to overpower them now! We can make a human ladder and climb to Heaven and take them over. We can live in happiness for the rest of eternity. We can stage a coup! We can stage a revolution! We have the numbers! We outnumber them 20 to 1. So please. Please. Can I go up and see His Majesty? Or write him a letter, or send him a carrier pigeon? This will change the entire way Hell operates!'' The secretary looked at him for quite a long time before she opened her mouth. Carl felt hope for the first time in ages. `` You need to file a form 676B. We'll tear it up and you can do it again for a hundred years. After that there's a two week waiting list.'' -- - Oh god this is long. Visit /r/Celsius232 for more.
[ WP ] Gordon Ramsay mistakenly walks into your house to film an episode of Kitchen Nightmares , and refuses to believe that you are n't a failing restaurant owner	``... and the experts all agree tonight's dazzling lights have been caused by the anomalous solar winds phenomena. Now a message from our sponsors'' `` Incredible! have you tried the new Reality TV? it brings the actions right to your home! Woah man, even, you know...? You bet! -- --'' Mark turned the `` real-tv'' off wth a single thought as he woke up, commercials sure are loud in 2078. It was not like him, falling asleep on the float-couch like that, but it had been a really long day yesterday at the factory. `` My boss is a crazy bitch'' he muttered as he made his way to the kitchen. `` Carmela! make me some breakfast will you?'' `` I'M - SORRY - MISTER - FERGUVSLAV - THIS - HELPER - UNIT - IS - CURENTLY - BEING - INSPECTED'' ..Inspected? What the hell did that even mean? But sure enough some weird guy was in his kitchen throwing a tantrum. `` Why is everything frozen here?? Nothing is fresh here, how do you even cook... this thing?? I have never seen a worse selection of ingredients in any kitchen before!'' he said as package of radio-oysters flew right by mark's head. `` Carmela who is this guy? ``, Mark said, puzzled by the whole situation and still somewhat dazed `` Did you let him in?'' `` I - DO - NOT - KNOW - MISTER - FERGUVSLAV - HE - CAME - IN - FROM - THE - LIVINGROOM, - SAID - CUSTOMERS - WERE - WAITING'' `` Wait, customers? we have customers?'' He said, confusion painting his face. `` Yes you do somehow! But not for long i assure you if we do n't fix this accursed kitchen of yours!'' came from the fridge, the angry guy still throwing around frozen discs of food. `` THEY - ARE - IN - THE - LIVINGROOM - MISTER - FERGUVSLAV'' Mark decided checking this out was probably the first priority and made its way to the nearby room, almost slipping on a can of beef flakes, only to find out it was now occupied by several fancy tables and many unknown people waiting and chatting with each other, some complaining about bad service. They were n't just unknown, they were bizzarre. Many had weird clothing, other looked like they came straight out of a history documentary, and he could swear one of them looked exactly like a famous singer whose name he could n't recall. One of them, however, called out to him. `` You must be the owner of this lovely house, come please, have a seat'' `` You're Will Bates, right? i saw your face on the newspapers!'' Mark said as the epiphany hit him, and took a seat. `` What is this? What is going on??'' Will waited for him to be seated, then started talking `` You see, my Reality TV is a great invention and i congratulate you for being a pioneer and buying one of my products'' he paused. Mark looked at him, waiting for more ``... And?'' The man took a deep breath and continued `` You see, i'm not real. Or, more precisely, i am now. What i'm trying to say is... tonight's solar winds somehow interfered with the R-TV.'' `` You mean stuff is coming out of it?'' `` Yes, sort of. The problem is you seem to have fallen asleep whitout turning it off, and all sort of reruns went on air. Even an old AMA i took part in, what a coincidence right?'' ... the two man looked at each other, Mark serious now. `` You do n't mean...'' `` Yes, i'm afraid they aired a rerun of Godzilla tonight, why do n't we check on Carmela? I'm a bit hungry''
[ WP ] A zombie virus breaks out in a middle-school , forcing a nerd , a jock , a cheerleader , and a goth to band together and fight the zombie threat .	`` What do you mean it's not working?'' Brad was bracing himself against the door as the pounding of fists, heads and potentially other malicious extremities were heard coming from the other side of the door. `` Hypothetically, this should work! If I can connect these wires, we can use the phones to call for help!'' Jeremy had sweating uncontrollably, twitching as he diagnosed the circuit he was working on. `` Blaine! Stop, like smoking and like help Brad out!'' Behind Brad, Cherry was trying to understand the entire situation. She still did n't understand that they would n't get into trouble for accessing the computer lab after closing hours. Blaine, smoking a cigarette took a deep drag before taking out a cross, wedging it between the door handles making a temporary lock. `` Why did you put that there before?'' Brad was shouting now, the front of his shirt soaked in sweat as he regained his breathe. `` You did n't ask.'' Taking another drag, he offered Cherry a smoke. `` I have it! I'm calling the police now!'' Jeremy was almost hyperventilating, brows still twitching as the tone began to dial out. `` I like, do n't want to go to detention. It's not like I wanted to be here! Chad is so going to pay after this!'' `` Damnit Cherry, those are n't Chad's friends, and were being chased by zombies! Ca n't you do anything to help?'' It was Brad now. Recovered, he started to move cabinets and large desk to make a barricade. It was nearly impossible how theses singularly incompetent individuals managed to escape a worldwide crisis by screwing up in the worst ways possible was beyond any living or un-living soul. Brad was hooking up with Blaine, who Cherry caught after stalking Brad, since he is so like fetch. Jeremy was already in the lab working on a programming language he called Jerebs and was going to the bathroom when he ran into Blaine running from an angry Cherry, followed closely by Brad. What the trio had n't noticed was the horde of zombified classmates that lurched towards the computer room. A miracle in itself Cherry did n't explode into tears, ruining her mascara. `` I got someone!'' Jeremy excited shouted. `` It's Cherry's father!'' `` Oh Daddy! He's here with friends! I hope he brought me a present.'' Cherry brightened, despite their predicament. `` What are they going to do? The entire city is blocked off, and everyone else is a zombie.'' Blaine somehow had managed to smoke an entire pack during the episode. `` He says that the army is coming to save us! A helicopter will land on the roof. There's an escape passage through the science laboratories and we'll get to the roof to safety!'' `` How did you say we were going to get to the roof?'' Brad was asking the questions now. `` It's not like we have any guns or knives or-'' It was only at this moment, Blaine stopped smoking and was found sharpening a piece of wood with a machete. `` Where did you like, get that?'' Cherry asked. `` What? You've never seen a zombie movie? You have to stabbed them through the heart.'' `` I think you are thinking about vampires, Blaine.'' Jeremy pushed his glasses up. `` Now that we are asking, do you have anything that will help us get to the roof?'' He pulled out two bayonets, one pocket knife, a canister of a highly flammable aerosol can and another pack of smokes. Of which he began to smoke. `` Well, that settles it. We're getting to the roof.'' Brad proclaimed. And thus, started their journey. They would n't realize how far they would have to go. Not yet.
[ WP ] If there was a reason in the beginning , I do n't remember it now .	Nate could feel the sweat dripping into his eyes. It blurred his vision and for a second he thought he might not be able to reload, but he hastily shoved the magazine into the gun. Click. Done. He stayed silent, staying perfectly still in the shadow of the lonely tree he was using for protection. He could hear the grunting and groaning of his commander just a couple metres away from him, and he could see the trail of blood seeping from his side over the bark he lay on. His breathing was rapid, and he was spitting up blood. There was no hope for him, and even at his most pathetic and weak stage, Nate still felt nothing for him. He had built an thick skin over his years in the army that made him emotionally immune to human suffering, cruelty and pleading, no matter who by. That's what vietnam does to you I suppose. Nate looked down at the ground, and back to his dying superior. he had a choice. More mindless killing, or save his boss' life. So he broke cover, and ran over to his boss. The 4 second run felt like an eternity, he would have surely betrayed his position. He quickly bandaged his boss' side and put gave him a shot of morphine. Carrying around a medical kit does have it's perks. And besides, sometimes life in the army is boring without a litte chemical aid. His boss looked up into his eyes, then at the AK-47 laying on the floor, the blood splattered all over the floor and on Nate's face, the over to the enemy and to the innocent citizens wailing in the corner or their forest home, covered in the blood of their freshly slaughtered infant, and with a quizzical look on his face, asked the simple question everyone out there wanted to know:'Why?' Nate took a while to respond. The firing had ceased, but only temporarily. He did n't know. He thought about his life back in America, with his girlfriend, where everyone has everything they need to survive and then some. He looked into the commander's eyes and said'If there was a reason in the beginning, i do n't remember it now. I just kill'. He had become a machine. A machine in the name of the United States of America, fighting for what was rightfully theirs. At least, that's what had been drilled into him, but now he was starting to question the authority. Why were they here, on an island in the middle of nowhere killing people they did n't know for something that was n't theirs in the first place? Why did God, the so called protector of the United States, join in this war. Why were n't they winning this time? Could it be possible that everything Nate had been told since birth was a lie? Maybe there was no god. Maybe his country did n't have his best interests at heart. Maybe politicians are so dissociated from reality and real world problems that they do n't think rationally about the decisions they make. Or maybe everyone's just greedy and God is punishing them. Either way, he did n't know and he did n't want to know. All he knew is that this whole situation was fucked up. They were not only losing the battle, but they were losing the war. And with that, he put the gun to his mouth, and squeezed his finger.
[ WP ] You have been thrown into an alternate universe . Everything is the exact same besides one very small thing . It drives you mad .	You ever had an itch before? It's unbearable at first, but once you scratch it goes away. Well, my'itch' is n't like that. It is n't like that at all. In fact I ca n't scratch it. I ca n't scratch it because I do n't know what it is. I was experimenting with Quantum Foam, and discovering the properties of them. The moment I thought I was on to something it closed on me. The device imploded and I was sucked in. Except I was in the exact same location I was in. My Dimension Focusing Device, DFD I call it, Told me I was in the exact dimension. Nothing changed. There was something, I knew there was something I felt it as soon as I went through. It's always ddistracting me from my work, and I can never discover what it was. It was deep in me, not my physical body, my soul. I've tried to scratch it but nothing works. It takes all my willpower to not break down when it spikes up. I can feel it coming, it's like how I feel when rain is coming, but it's an itch. A deep itch. Multiple attempts to satisfy whatever it was were all redundant and a failure. My calculations and tools could not detect anything off in this universe. I was the loner in this world. My work is my life, and I ca n't focus, I ca n't focus at all. This itch is clearly something wrong with me, something very wrong. Maybe my own work turned against me? Maybe this is some sort of divine punishment for my meddling with the multiverse. I do n't know, I do n't know! It's driving me insane, but I ca n't be insane, my work needs me to be there. My work is my life, I need to focus. I need to be there for it. I've tried hours on end to scratch it, but All I get is my own skin. Nothing I try works. I've tried to reopen the portal, but the Foam is not the same as it was before, the journey changed it. There is no way for me to ignore it, because it prods my mind away until I give it attention, but it is not real. My physical and emotional body do n't feel it, but I do. There is no way to fix it. I'm lost.
[ WP ] Humanity has discovered immortality , meaning all new children since the discovery will never die . Your generation is the last mortal generation .	Three years ago they discovered the secret to immortality. Three years ago they gave us all shots to make our offspring immortal. They explained that it did n't work on anyone above the age of 5 for some scientific reason that amounted to we were too old in scientific mumbo jumbo. For the past three years, I've watched the world change. Children used to run around with a stick or a ball, laughing jovially the entire time. I remember when I was young and I got my first bike, it was so exciting until I fell off. I would n't go near the thing for the next 2 weeks. Now children run amok with pistols clutched in their tiny fists, shooting live ammunition at each other. Careful not to hit anyone older than the age of 8 for they'll still die. I sat on the park bench and heard the telltale'bang bang' of the local kids playing'cops and robbers'. I let out a sigh, stood and quickly walked out of the park. My generation will be the last one to ever die. My children will live my lifetime and much more after that. They may even be around to watch as the sun gives us the final vestiges of light it ever will. I have conflicted feelings about how the world is evolving. Part of me is jealous of the next generation, the immortal generation, and part of me is happy that I'll get to die. Imagine, living forever. Outliving your parents, your pets time and time again. Over the course of their lives, they may have upwards of 20 wives or husbands simply because people grow apart after so many years together. They may never find love in their lifetime, although that is unlikely. Eventually, there'll be so many people that the world wo n't be able to accommodate them all, what then? I laughed a little to myself. These were the next generations problems, not mine. Mine were a bit more ordinary, like what was I going to eat for lunch today? I decided I wanted Chinese food from my favourite place near the park. As I was crossing the street ( j-walking, naturally ) a semi came speeding around the corner. At the same time a child ran onto the street after her ball, the semi swerved to dodge the child and instead rammed into me, crushing me against the wall. In my final moments, as the world was fading from my vision from what I could tell would be the final time, I looked at the immortal child. Fuck you, why did n't you get hit? You're immortal, you could have survi - If you liked this story you should read my others. Thanks. /r/Ceruberus
[ WP ] Two siblings stumble upon a radioactive rock as children . Separated by war , they grow apart and develop identical superhuman abilities . One turns into a masked hero and the other a masked villain .	As my storm brewed, I waited to face the oh-so-beloved Nightingale. She was always thwarting my plans, she would face my wrath, and maybe a few dozen bolts of lightning. My powers would n't freeze, not today. The black clad figure walked slowly down the street, obscured by the winds and the rain, but as she approached my storm faltered. Nerves do n't fail me now. I could make out her famous mask, a bird with a hooked beak under a plain sweatshirt sure as hell covering a bullet proof vest. Thunder rumbled. Well you're not up against guns today sister... Oh god sister? It had to be her, the luminescent green rock hung from a chain around her neck. '' Will you wear yours always, Lizzy? Even in the war? `` '' Sure thing Hun, do n't worry about me. `` I clutched at the matching pair under my soaked shirt. At the time, I did n't know what a curse it would bring, nor did I know how I would be used because of it. When they found out, I was forced to ruin the `` enemy land''. My droughts, my floods... all those innocents. `` Brin.'' The second I called out, she lifted her mask, revealing her beautifully sculpted face. `` Lizzy!'' She rushed forward, embracing me. The rain grew gentle, sun broke the clouds. `` So you have it too! Thats how you short circuited the barrack, thats how the roofs of the government buildings conveniently blew away...'' Horror crept across her face. `` All those damages... all those innocents... Lizzy?'' I drew back my hood, revealing my burnt and sagging face, calling the clouds back together. `` Innocents Brin? You were n't there. Hero or government dog? Ask your superiors what they ordered.'' In the fading light, I could make out her confusion. Her hesitation, a mistake. The lighting rained downward in a hollow column around her, the blinding flash and roar provided me the perfect cover. She would n't understand. But she would wake up, because no matter who held her puppet strings she was forever and always my little Brin. And I can rage my hurricane hundreds of government officials but I can never hurt her.
[ WP ] Write a love letter from one color to another .	Yellow, Yellow, Yellow Of the sunkissed sands, ochre light beams, all that is bright and happy effervescence! You glow, you shine, you collect and radiate light from within. You are the strength and opaque solidarity of the unborn yolk, the tender sunbeams of dawns first light, and the glittering riches of golden rings, crowns and amulets on kings and queens long dead and withered. You remain. A sign of hope. We complete each other- you are the expanse of desert terrain, and I am the sky overhead. You are innumerable infinite granules of sand, and I am the crashing frothing waves of water. Our love gives life- tender, green and youthful. For time everlasting where you shall be so will I. Never to be parted. -Always and Forever Blue
[ WP ] You are a sailor . In the middle of the ocean your ship has sunk . You are the sole survivor of the accident , but you are trapped in a small air pocket that has formed within the wreckage . You have no food , water , or light , and know you have no hope of rescue . Tell us about your last few hours .	It's funny, even in these dark times there is still hope. I ca n't see anything, it's pitch black. Not dark like at night, or when you're in a room with no lights on. I mean, this is the blackest black perceptable by man. And I'm scared to fucking death. Who can help me? This is how I'll die. Fuck fuck FUCK. Wait did't they find this guy in a boat, it was a couple of years ago, a cook from Nigeria or something? His boat sunk and he was trapped in an airpocket, just like I am now. They found him after a bunch of days, there was actually film footage of the diver that found him. He looked so goddamn scared... But fuck that, I'll take therapy over death any day... So maybe... Maybe they'll find me. I just have to survive long enough for them to do so. But then I remembered. They do n't do search parties for smugglers because nobody fucking knows we're out here. Nobody. I'm going to die. Maybe I should try to swim out of the ship, get to the surface. Maybe some other ship will come by and see me. We're only 200 miles of the coast. I'm so fucked... Why am I even here. How could I have been this stupid? I've had a bad feeling about this shit from the start and still I decided to go. Maybe I deserve this. No fuck that shit! What's really so wrong with what we're doing? We are n't forcing anybody to buy or use this shit. If not from us they will get it from somebody else. It's a free country. Kinda. Ok think you dumb fuck, what can you do? You ca n't stay here. Nobody will come. Nobody will find you. And nobody will ever find out what happened to you. Oh man my poor mother. I can already image her telling some interviewer, ten years from now, `` Right now I prefer to know him being dead, then still not knowing what happened to him.'' I understand mom. I'm sorry. Maybe someday they'll find the ship by accident and give her some peace of mind. You dark motherfucker where do your thoughts keep going?! You should put that mind to use dickhead, think of some way out of here instead of wasting energy. I'll just have to swim. I think I'm in the engine room, so there are two doors out of this chamber. One leads further into the ship, if I go in there then that will be it. The other one leads into the corridor that takes me to the bridge and eventually to the outside. I think the distance is doable. That is, when you can see where you're actually going and when there is nothing in the way. I have no idea what kind of obstacles I'll run into. Or if I can open the doors. And how deep we are when I actually exit the ship. I'm never going to make it. I think the airpocket is getting smaller... The water is higher then it was before. And it's fucking cold. My body will go into hypothermia and then I'm done. Or the water will rise up even further and then I'm done. Either way, there's not much time. I'm gon na swim. I rather die trying then just perish here waiting for nothing. Do n't think to long or you'll chicken out... Ok... ok... Think... The ship.... The corridor leads up, I think 10 feet, then there's stairs. That'll be another 10. Left turn, 5 feet. Door. Can I open that from this side? I'd better... The bridge has doors on both sides. They're easy to open. Hopefully I'll be able to see something once there. Maybe some moonlight. Anything. Fuck. It's a long fucking way. DO N'T THINK. DO IT! So cold.... goddamnit I ca n't see shit. How long can I hold my breath? A minute? Fuck, I've cut my hand... Forget it, keep going. I ca n't feel shit... I have n't even found the door yet... Just fucking wall everywhere. Wall. Wall. There! The door! I can open it... Go through... Wait, go back! Air! goddamn why did n't I stop smoking... Ok I know where the door is. That's good. I could feel the floor on the other side was PVC, so it's the one leading up. Ok... So we have a plan, we go bit by bit. Find out where to go and go back. Slowly make a map in my mind. Maybe I can actually make it. I can make it. Take as much air as possible and go! I feel the door, go through. Follow the wall, pull yourself up on the stairs, feel the turn, swim in, there's the door to the bridge! It's stuck! It's not fucking budging. GODDAMNIT! Pull it harder you weak son of a bitch! HARDER. It's moving! Ok go back! Shit shit fuck shit, the airpocket is getting smaller real fast now... I think the room will be full in 10 minutes... That's two runs max, do n't waste them man... Ok... Door... Corridor, stairs, turn, door, open it... OPEN IT. Done motherfucker. Fuck yes you goddamn fucking boat. You will not beat me. Not today. Go back... Shit the pocket has shrunken faster then I thought it would... This will be my last gasp of air... I'll have to make it to bridge and outside in one go. I can do this. I. Can. Do. This. I have to. This is it man. No second changes. This is n't a game, no movie, no fucking dream. If I do n't make it, I'm dead. I'm a fucking corpse, to be eaten by fish. And I hate fucking fish. I do n't eat that shit. They should't get to eat me either. Assholes. Goddamnit, focus you retard. Ok. BREATHE. Door, corridor, stairs, turn, door, bridge... Shit, ca n't see anything. Which side do I take? I do n't know what is up and what is down. If I take the wrong one I end up on the bottom side of the ship and further from the surface... Blow you dumbass! your air will go up. Not to much... Ok this way... I feel a door... It; s open! I can get through! I see something for the first time now... I'm outside of the ship... It's moonlight... Swim to the surface! Swim... I'm not getting closer... How deep are we? How long have I been under? I ca n't feel my legs anymore... My arms do n't work anymore... Swim! SWIM! The lihgt is ffading... Whhy si the ligthh fadiing? I'm getingggg closre... Swim! swim... ssimw.. sssws s ... .
[ WP ] You are the technology manager for a group of superheroes . Not gadgets - common technology such as smartphones , computers , email etc .	`` So the home button is right here,'' I explain, pointing to the large button helpfully labelled HOME on the bottom of the touchscreen. Firegirl raises her hand. `` Yes?'' I ask, pointing to her. She's one of the more tech-savvy heroes in HQ at the moment, but considering how inept most superheroes are, it really is n't much of an achievement. `` I do n't think these things are built to be heat resistant,'' she says, with the silvery remains of what was, up until now, a brand new phone dripping from her fingers. I resist the urge to slam my head into the table. This is the third time one of these has melted today. I'll need to schedule yet another meeting with R & D and our budget department to explain in painstaking detail that, no, it is not o-fucking-kay to buy cheap materials if said materials disintegrate within minutes. `` I do not see why these are necessary at all,'' booms Krass. He's technically a super, but he's really an alien from another dimension. Their physiology just so happens to appear human ( when you work with superheroes, you get used to the seemingly impossible coincidences ) and, incidentally, their tech is so much more advanced than ours that he's come full circle to the point of being technologically illiterate in the human world. He speaks in a very antiquated manner, which most people seem to find endearing. Personally, it grates on my nerves, and today they're already frayed. `` We could just request comrade Mina to establish communication using thought.'' `` Yeah, that's easy,'' says Mina, the last member of the team. She's a telepath who is also incredibly technophobic, just like the vast majority of superheroes. The technophobe thing, not the telepathy. `` Then it's sorted,'' Firegirl says, heading towards the door. She claps Mina on the back, ignoring her yelp of pain. `` Do n't trouble yourself with teaching us how to use these doohickeys, sir, just make sure that someone's phoned the fire department.'' She waltzes through the door, and Mina follows suit, rubbing at the singed patch on the back of her uniform. Krass has already teleported out - alien from another dimension, and all that jazz - so I've got another 27 minutes until the next briefing is scheduled. Briefings, as it happens, are supposed to take 30 minutes. I flop into my chair, biting back a sigh. I was so sure I'd be able to get to them this time. I was recruited into the S.O.S ( Society of Superheroes ) a few scant days after I finished my PhD in Computer Science at the age of 21. Yeah, maybe I'm a genius, but it's really not that impressive considering there are heroes who can level cities with a single punch. So far, though no one in this whole damn organization seemed to give a shit about technology. Except for the regular ol' humans, obviously. Now I understand why the turnover rate is so high. `` What's up, boss?'' comes from behind me, and I turn around to find Snipe, devoid for once of his usual scowl. He'd been benched a week ago for jumping off too many buildings - superheroes, seriously - and has been forced to serve as my assistant since. `` That looks pretty cool. Is that a new phone?'' I only realize I'm gaping at him when he clears his throat, biting back a smile. `` Oh, right, yeah,'' I say, scrambling to grab another model from my desk and handing it to him. I'm really not used to superheroes taking an interest in my tech, or, well, any tech that does n't have a big button marked CLICK HERE FOR FOOD. `` R & D came up with it a few days ago. It's waterproof, fireproof - well, supposedly,'' I add, considering what happened with Firegirl, `` And-'' `` Oh, shit, the camera on this thing is fantastic!'' he exclaims, pointing it towards me. `` Smile.'' I blink just when the phone lets off a flash, and Snipe nearly doubles over laughing. `` Very attractive, sir,'' he says. `` Hey, what does this button do?'' `` Want me to show you?'' I ask, and I pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. A superhero taking an interest in tech, holy shit! `` Yeah, sure, that'd be cool,'' Snipe says, and he flings himself into one of the chairs, leaning towards me eagerly. A quick glance at the clock shows me I only have 22 minutes left. `` Wait a fucking second, you guys shoved 128 gigs of RAM into these things?!'' Screw it. I can reschedule the next briefing. And the one after that. And maybe the one after that too.
[ WP ] 119 is established as a 911 for 1st world problems	`` Ma'am, please stop crying. It's going to be okay.'' The woman was hysterical. Ellie could easily imagine the woman on the other side of the line with her primped hair, designer cloths, and gobs of mascara smearing across her face. Taking so many calls you would think that there would be some variance in the people she talked to, but she imagined them all to be the same ten people calling over and over again. Even their voices sounded the same. They melded into a few different cadences, separated only by regional accents or by how they cried. Their problems were meaningless to Ellie, but they were willing to pay for the support. `` I'm sorry it's hard to type with your new nails,'' Ellie was half screaming over the woman's sobs. `` I'm sure he understands that the text you sent him was a mishap, just call him and explain...'' The woman interrupted her and offered the same argument that Ellie always heard. There really was no variance in these people, but they all thought they were special and that they mattered more than others. It took several minutes to finally convince the crying woman that everything would be okay if she just called her boyfriend instead of staying on the phone with Ellie. Eventually, hiccuping, she agreed and disconnected. Ellie quickly put herself on break and took a moment to stretch her legs and head to the bathroom. She hated sitting in the cubicle all day, but it was an easy job. So many people called over nothing, nothing! These people would n't know a real problem if it hit them in the face. It made Ellie feel more superior, in a way, because she did have real things to worry about like paying rent and getting all of her homework done. Did n't these people have something better to do? The seconds on her break counted down and she answered another phone call. `` Thank you for calling 119, what's your emergency?'' `` Hi... I uh, I think I'm going to kill myself.'' The voice on the end of the line had the same strain Ellie was used to and it took her a second to recognize that this was n't her usual problem. `` You... uh... what?'' She replied dumbly, unable to process what the man had said. `` Yeah, I do n't see a point,'' his voice picked up a bit as he himself got more comfortable with the idea. `` I just do n't see a point in living anymore. I did n't really know who to call and, well, here I am.'' Ellie began to panic. This man was going to kill himself. She was n't trained to handle something like this. Their prompts had never covered anything so serious. The line was supposed to only handle the problems of the rich and spoiled. `` Are you still there?'' He asked, a slight pleading in his voice. She did n't know what to do. Thinking fast, she decided to do the only thing she could. `` Yes, I'm here. Listen, I know that...'' click She held her breath and listened to see if the call had really disconnected, her finger still pressing the disconnect key. This trick had helped her get out of bad calls in the past. If they checked the recording they would see that she had been talking when the call disconnected and she surely would not have done that. It would n't make sense. They'd pass over it and Ellie would never get in trouble. No one had ever trained her to handle someone with a real problem, so it was their fault anyways. Besides, surely he'd call back and get someone else that could help him. She re-assured herself with these thoughts and answered a call for another crying woman who had crashed her new car, returning her day to an easy normalcy. Ellie promptly forgot the man she had spoken to, the man who never did call back.
[ IP ] [ EU ] Bar Fight .	`` -- and that's when Cap spilled Superman's drink and the whole thing went downhill from there,'' Peter groaned, waving a bandaged arm in the air. Clint blinked twice and sat up from where he'd been lounging on the couch in the Avengers Tower common room. `` Wait wait wait. You're telling me that biggest, baddest, knock-down, destroy-the-whole-block bar brawl; the bar fight to end all bar fights....was started by Cap and Superman?'' said Clint, grin growing by the second. `` Uh, yeah?'' said Peter. Clint started laughing. `` This is gold. Fucking gold! Oh man, I ca n't believe I missed it.'' `` Have you seen everyone involved, are you crazy? Tony's still out cold and they do n't even know what they're going to do about Rogue and that Martian guy that accidentally tried to phase through her... you're damn lucky you missed it!'' whined Peter, looking at his ruined costume and poking one of his many bruises morosely. `` Yeah, ok, you're probably right but tell me you do n't see the beauty of this story. A bar full of superheroes and who manages to set things off? It's amazing that it was n't Tony getting in a dick-measuring contest with Batman or just generally annoying someone. Or the Flash trying to hit on Natasha, or Logan just thinking someone was looking at him wrong. And did n't you say Bruce was already Hulked out at that point? And he had n't tried to smash anything yet? Hell, I'm surprised you were able to resist making a crack about Aquaman's dumbass powers,'' said Clint, still laughing like a hyena between sentences. `` All of that had n't managed to go wrong, and Steve managed to start a fight with Superman? Is n't he supposed to be a goody-two shoes farm boy type too? This is WEEKS worth of material right here. Where's my phone, I got ta tell Sam about this shit.'' Peter gaped at Clint for a moment. `` Well, when you put it that way...'' Peter dived for his own phone. `` Hey, Johnny?... Yeah, you heard about the fight from Reed? Well, guess who started it... nope, was n't Tony...''
[ WP ] It was an open and shut case , except for one alarming detail ...	She sat down, crossing her legs with confidence. `` If there is no other questions, I think I'd like you to leave.'' `` Well, actually, I do have one question. You said your husband was on oxygen for the last year.'' I opened my notebook and checked my notes. `` Yeah? So?'' She reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of gum, slipping one free. She offered me one, but I turned her down with a cordial smile. `` I -- Well, I bring it up because -- Understand, I'm just being thorough. You see, if he was on oxygen for the past year, how did the cigarette butt get in the ashtray beside his bed. His doctor, a Dr. Mathews, informed me that his lungs were in very bad shape. He could n't have smoked part of a cigarette, let alone, the whole thing.'' I flipped my notebook closed and looked at her with an open friendly expression. `` It was my cigarette. I am the smoker.'' She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse to prove her claim. `` I see. Well, he died in bed. You're the smoker. It seems like an open and shut case.'' I slipped my notebook in my pocket and turned to go. `` I'm relieved to hear you say so.'' She said, a smile caressing her face but not her eyes. It was a predatory smile. It was the smile of a woman who thought she'd gotten away with murder. `` One last thing, ma'am.'' `` Yes, detective?'' She seemed confused and uncertain now. `` Your husband was murdered. He did n't die of natural causes like you or like your lover, Dr. Mathews, claimed.'' I had her now. `` That is preposterous.'' She scoffed, assuming an indignant tone. `` You see, when I was examining his body at the morgue I noticed that he'd been mauled by a T-Rex, and I could n't help but notice you keep a T-Rex tied up in your yard. You're the only person on the block with a pet T-Rex. I checked.'' I smiled knowingly, savoring the victory. She was flabbergasted. No doubt they thought they'd covered all their bases, but it is a lot tougher than most people think it is to hide the mauling of a T-Rex. `` It was his idea. I had no part in it.'' She would throw the Doctor to the wolves as it were. She was in it for herself. The jury might buy it, but I was n't. `` Officers.'' I called. Two uniforms came in and cuffed her, taking her away. I smiled that victory smile only a detective who'd solved a murder could smile and pulled my trench coat closed. It was raining out and the wife was setting out his dinner. I'd make it home in time for once. The officers took her away. I left by the side door with a spring in my step. It felt good to close a case, especially one as complicated as this.
[ WP ] At age 20 in your tribe you 're tasked with venturing out into the woods for a bonfire . People join you over the course of this trip , they 're you from different worlds leading very different lives .	They call it, The Vision Quest. When I was a boy, I watched my father as he helped a young man go up the highest hill he could find and pray the stars. I did n't understand it at the time, but the young man was looking for answers in his life. God to us, his name is Tunkashila, When we pray to him we finish off the prayer with'Mitakuye Owansin'. This means, `` we are all related''. A young boy, about nine years old sits and watches a bonfire across from him, his father, a thirty two year old security officer at a local Indian Casino. He was never in the military, but his father, the boy's grandfather, was a WWII Army Veteran who fought in the pacific theater apart of a communications division. He was a Lakota Code Talker. `` Come here son,'' The father says in Lakota. `` Look at the sky.'' The boy looks up for a moment and watches as the moon sits full and bright amongst the stars. He wonders what it tastes like, what the ground is like on the moon, but he is too afraid to ask his dad. `` One day, we will be able to see all of our relatives up there. We will be able to travel amongst the stars as we did in the time before.'' His father looks back around, on a hill is a dark figure of a man. If you listen to him closely you can hear him praying, `` One day, son, that will be you up there. You will have to look for the answers for yourself and ask the creator for guidance.'' Below the hill, orbs of light like fireflies start making their way up the hill, slowly, one by one, the orbs begin to bounce as they glide upwards towards the shadow of the man, sitting on hill. `` Look, son. Look! Do you see, they answered him.'' His father points to the lights, the son is frightened and does not know what to do from here. `` I'm scared dad, do n't they take you to the other side?'' He says as he scoots closer. `` No, do n't be. They are just coming to tell him or show him what he could do.'' He grabs a red piece of cloth and rips a piece off, then grabs his son's hand and begins to wrap it around his palm, `` This will let them know you are just a visitor, so they wo n't bother you.'' As he ties it, he continues to talk to keep his son calm, `` Whatever it is they are showing him, it could change. Everyone has an infinite chances to change.'' He says as he stands up and grabs another log to place on the fire. `` Why are we keeping this lit? Why do we have to sit by the fire?'' The son says looking up at his dad. `` Because, when you are on a Vision Quest, sometimes you go to another place and you have to look for your way back. The fire is like a light house, you know how they guide boats to shore? Like that. We also have to treat it with respect, because if you do n't the light could go out and we can also be trapped on the otherside. The wood we burn needs to be given an offering because it is our relative, just like the food we eat and the ground we walk on. We came from her, grandmother earth, when you take something from her or take one of your relatives lives, you give an offering or a prayer, and you finish with..?'' `` Mitakuye Owansin,'' The son says as he watches his father place up the wood into a cone shape. `` Good,'' The father says as he crouches down watching the wood start, a drumming noise can be heard and singing starts. `` Son, I'll be here when you go up. I'll be the one to watch your fire.'' -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Eleven Years later. The young boy has grown up, he is on his way home and riding a grey hound bus from college. When he gets off, he has a suitcase and a duffle bag when he walks into the bus terminal. It's about three am and no one is there to greet him. He walks out into the street and begins his journey home, its about 120 miles till he gets to the old house. He makes it to a gas station and a older woman who recognizes him from high school offers to take him to the reservation boarder on her way to work, which he takes her up on it. On the way, she gives him a cup of her coffee and talks about the old casino that his dad worked at when he was a security guard, he smiles and listens to the group of people he somewhat knows from his dad's days there and continue to work at the casino. It's day break when she drops him off outside of the town and he is only 40 miles from home, he just has to make it to the other side of the reservation. Another car stops and picks him up, but this time it's a bus driver who is making his way down a couple of towns, he offers him a ride and says he can sleep on the front seat, which he does. In the back ground he can hear old RnB and Early Rock and Roll playing on the radio. When he stops again, he is only 9 miles from home. He starts to walk through the familiar woods he used to pass on his way to school, along the way his uncle passes him going to work but stops, turns around, and takes him home. His uncle was surprised to see him walking on the highway, and could not stop talking his ear off on what's been happening with the basketball team since he graduated. When he get off, his dad's old dog greets him by barking at the car, when he gets off the dog nearly tackles him. It's so quiet at home, compared to when he is at college. His mom comes out, still in her night gown and slippers. `` Son! Come in! Come get some breakfast!'' She turns quickly back in and probably starts setting out another dish. `` Hey uncle, can you come by after work?'' His uncle replies'yes' and asks him what for, `` I just need your help with something, since dad... you know.. I am going to need your help.'' He agrees and turns off back to work, as he walks in, the big old dog pretty much guides him to the door and he can smell eggs cooking. ( End of Part 1 )
[ WP ] You pictured this meeting a thousand times in your dreams , now it 's happening for real . You board your plane , ready for a long transatlantic flight , only to find out that sitting beside you there is your long lost love . You have n't spoken or seen each other since 15 years .	She did n't turn from looking out the window as I eased into the aisle seat next to her. She'd probably been ogled by close to a hundred men in the past fifteen minutes as the rest of the plane filled up, and the hapless passengers in coach filed past her first class seat. Looking out the window, ignoring the furtive- and not so furtive glances at her cleavage, her perfectly formed face, her coppery red hair. She had hated that back in college, and as I watched her in the terminal I could tell she still did. Phoebe was not one for attention; and she studiously avoided eye contact at all costs. She moved seats twice to get away from fellow travelers that tried unsuccessfully to strike up conversations with her. Strikingly beautiful in her mid thirties, it was easy to see she had grown accustomed to being hit on, and quite adept at shooting down even the most subtle of approaches. I'd watched her go through the boarding gate, approaching the kiosk as soon as the boarding announcement for first class had been made. I knew what seat she was in. Second row, left side, window. Seat 2A. I waited as the rest of the boarding zones were called, while the business travelers and old ladies and soldiers and moms with babies filed into the winged tube. I was the last ass through the door, even though I had the aisle seat, row two, left side of the plane. Seat 2B. I never understood those that crowded the gate, shuffled to get in line to go down the jetway and wait to be seated; filing along the narrow aisle, waiting as scores of people stuffed bags in the overhead compartment, standing there like a bunch of fools. Idiots. Even in first class, who boarded first, having to dodge elbows and asses and errant carry on bags as the weary travelers doomed to coach class filed by their comfy seats on their way back to the cramped rows in coach. I waited until there was almost no noise in the jetway, and the ticket agents looked almost ready to shut the terminal door, and walked up and presented my boarding pass. She barely glanced up at me. I had, as always, only one small carry on laptop case. Grey Dunhill suit, white shirt, no tie, slightly tinted glasses, medium length brown hair. Average height and build, no distinguishing features. Nobody ever noticed me in public, and I was totally okay with that. I slid my laptop case into the overhead after extracting a couple of file folders, and eased myself into the seat beside her, buckled my seat belt, and without so much as a hello, I opened one of the files and began reading. It was a series of briefs from one of my company's patent lawyers, bringing me up to speed on several of my most recent patent applications. I average about four a week now. I paid no attention to her, and it about killed me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that she was still staring resolutely out the window. `` Thank you for flying with us, Mr. Dvorak. May I interest you in a drink while the rest of the plane settles in? We'll be pushing back in about ten minutes.'' The flight attendant said demurely. `` A Screwdriver, please, Finlandia Vodka if you have it.'' Life's too short for cheap liquor. Of course they had my brand. I had requested it when I purchased the tickets. You get that perk when you log a million miles a year or more, or at least your company does. No doubt the orange juice would be the pulp-free, organically grown fresh squeezed and strained brand I had specified as well. I had had a couple of gallons brought over earlier that day to be stocked for this specific flight. I like what I like, and if you're willing to pay for it, it can be made available anywhere, even on a transcontinental flight. They also had the coffee grounds I preferred, and my brand of water. Last but not least, they had my favorite soda, Fresca. I never took my eyes off the papers in front of me. I felt Phoebe's head turn and her body shift a bit in her seat as she realized who I was. Even back in college, I had been a `` Vodka snob'' as she put it. One of my less endearing qualities, she assured me. `` Holy shit!'' she breathed, as I reached up to accept the drink, pretending not to hear her. It took all my will not to acknowledge her presence. I pretended to be absorbed in the briefs, sipping the drink as I slowly turned the pages with my other hand. `` David?'' she said, a little louder, and placed her hand on my arm. I looked up, and went through the little routine I had practiced a thousand times. At first I looked up with an expression of minor annoyance as I sought the source of the intrusion, then a searching stare as if trying to place the face, then a slow- but not too slow- transition to full recognition of the woman that had once held my heart in the palm of her hand; and then cast it aside a year after we had graduated. I raised my eyebrows in feigned surprise. `` Phoebe?'' I said, in a thin, quiet voice that I did n't have to work too hard to make sound a bit shaky. `` Is it really you?''
[ WP ] Urban explorers encounter something unexpected when investigating an abandoned subway tunnel .	A bright flash lit up the tunnel. I paused, momentarily blinded. `` Can you warn me when you want to take a pic?'' `` Sorry, Lumley,'' Leann said, surely rolling her eyes in the dark. We picked our way along the tunnel, until finally reaching the end. `` Well, this would appear to be all of it. Why did you pick this place anyway?'' I asked. `` Well, I have n't been entirely honest with you...'' Leann trailed off. I waited, but apparently she was going for the dramatic pause. `` So, a long time ago, before it went out of style, Milwaukee was supposedly planning to build a subway system.'' `` Really? A subway? In Milwaukee?'' `` Really. Yeah. I found an old building permit that shows this utility tunnel was used to run power to a subway tunnel that was allegedly built in the 1940 ’ s. But, like I said, subway projects kinda went out of style because of how expensive they were. ” “ So you wanted to come find the lost Milwaukee subway, huh? ” `` I wonder where this door leads?'' “ What door? ” I asked. Leann had turned on her flashlight and was examining crack in the wall. I turned on my own flashlight and followed the crack along the wall. It was a perfectly straight line that ran in the shape of a door along the cold concrete at the end of the tunnel. “ How do we open it if there ’ s no handle? ” I asked, leaning on the door, but it wouldn ’ t budge. “ Lumley, come help me with this. ” I turned to see Leann up against the tunnel wall, prying a brick out of the out of the masonry. “ According to the plans, there was a lever that opened the door, but they put up this brick wall to hide it. ” I came over and helped her pull a few more bricks out of the wall, revealing a large old-timey steampunk looking lever. “ I think, if we pull this down, it should unlock the door, and we can go in. ” I pulled on a pair of heavy leather gloves and began to pull on the lever. Leann took a picture as I was pulling. It moved ever so slightly, but the gears at the pivot didn ’ t want to budge. Leann pulled on her own gloves and joined at the lever. We felt the lever give more with each pull until finally, a great CLACK rung out from the door as the lever swung downward. Leann walked over to the door and gave it a push, it creaked inward with a faux-ominous groan. We stepped out of the nondescript utility tunnel and into the pages of Milwaukee ’ s forgotten history. We were standing in what looked to be a small subway station, and sure enough, there was a train. But it didn ’ t look anything like what I was expecting, Leann either, for she remarked, “ Looks kinda small for a subway. Even a 1940 ’ s Milwaukee subway. ” “ You some kind of expert on 1940 ’ s Milwaukee subways? ” I replied, smart assily. “ Actually yes, considering the fact that we ’ re the first two people to set foot in the Milwaukee subway system in the past half-century, I suppose that does make us experts. But no, From the pictures I ’ ve seen of the subways of New York, you know, back when it was private families building their own train systems, they were way bigger. ” “ Hmm, I suppose you ’ re right. ” “ This? This looks a bit like a glorified roller coaster. And is that- ” She pointed to the last ‘ car ’ “ -a flatbed car? ” We walked over to it and Leanne began snapping pictures. “ It looks to me like this flatbed car was intended to haul a bit of cargo. ” “ Weird! ” Leann exclaimed, delightedly. She finished photographing the train and the station and then suggested we explore the subway tunnel. “ Isn ’ t this bizarre? ” She asked as we made our way down the tunnel. “ Yeah, I don ’ t get it. Why would they have built a subway here in the 40 ’ s? Milwaukee has a great history, and had plenty of people, but even today, traffic isn ’ t so bad you ’ d need a subway. ” We walked on for about another half hour. The ground sloped downward in places, and at times, we could see that the tunnel had been bored straight through the limestone bedrock. “ Where do you think we are, anyway? ” Leann asked. “ What, didn ’ t the plans say where the tunnel went? ” “ No, in fact, the plans were pretty vague. The only location info I could find is the entrance of the utility tunnel that lead to the station and the lever that you ’ d use to get in. Other than that, it just said part of a line had been built, but… not completed.... ” “ Spooky. ” “ So really, you ’ ve got the best sense of direction. Where are we? ” “ Well, the utility tunnel was right behind the Pfister Hotel, we followed that south for… oh, maybe a half mile, which would put us under St. Paul Street and that ’ s where we found that station. From there, we walked a mile, east… I think, based on how we turned and now we ’ re- ” I stopped in my tracks. “ Leann! We ’ re under the Amtrak Station right now! The current one, I mean. Milwaukee Intermodal. ” She was quiet for a moment, “ Yeah, that would put us right about that area. I wonder if it ’ s a coincidence that this runs right beneath it. ” `` Well, keep your eyes open for a door along the wall, that might lead up to the station.'' But we found no doors along the tunnel wall. In fact, the tunnel seemed to be getting deeper and deeper into the limestone bedrock until it leveled out and we could see our flashlight beams had found something ahead. “ Looks like another station. That would put this tunnel about a mile or so long? ” “ So right now, we ’ re under… the Marquette Interchange, I think. Way deep down. ” We arrived at the station. It was empty except for a few benches. To the back of the station, the tunnel did not continue. We had apparently traversed the full one mile subway line from end to end. Leann took more pictures of the station, a bright flash popping each time. “ I wonder where that goes. ” Leanne indicated a heavy-looking door behind the benches. “ Well, we ’ ve come this far. ” With nothing but our flashlights to light the way, we approached the door expecting another struggle to get it open, but it was unlocked. As we opened the door, expecting another utility tunnel, we stood awestruck at the threshold. “ Whaaaaat is this place?!?! ” A smile of astonishment hung on Leanne ’ s face. A small lobby stood before us. A check-in desk was flanked by two heavy machine gun embankments, both aimed at the door. Leann strode forward, camera flashing, but I stopped short when I noticed what she had stepped on. Her footprints disturbed the dusty floor and something blue and gold peeked through. “ Put your dust mask on, honey. ” A told her as I pulled mine from my backpack. I began to wipe the dust off the floor until finally. “ Is that… the FBI seal? ” Sure enough, the letters spelled out ‘ Department of Justice Federal Bureau of Investigation. ’ Leann photographed it. “ Looks like we figured out why this subway system never opened. It never was a subway. This is a secret FBI facility. You said this was built in the 1940 ’ s? ” “ 1949 is what it said on the plans. ” “ Damn, I think we found a secret cold-war bunker! ” “ I don ’ t think it was just a bunker. ” She pointed to one of the doors behind the machine gun embankments. ‘ Detention Facility ’ read the sign. *Story continues below*
[ WP ] Reverse Attack on Titan ! Humanity has been plagued / rather annoyed by tiny humanoids flying around with swords . You 're about to have your first encounter with them	`` Oh, it's horrible, horrible!'' Said my mother from the porch as the man walked up from the white van in the driveway, with `` Al's Extermination'' painted on the side. `` I'm just going to need you to calm down, Ma'am,'' he said, pulling three necklaces from his bag, `` But before we begin, I'm going to need you to put one of these on. The little buggers like going for the neck, and it's just a precaution- they're usually really bad at causing any damage.'' `` Of course,'' said my mother, and strapped one on to me, `` What exactly do they do?'' `` Just strings of magnets, that all. If any of them get close they'll get stuck- that exoskeleton they have is actually made of bits of steel, and draws them in like a bug to light. Now I'm going to need to hear some details.'' `` Well, at first I thought it was Timmy,'' she said, leading the exterminator into the house as he nodded, `` little chips out of the wall, occasional threads hanging around, nothing too serious. But this morning, we woke up to this!'' She pointed into the living room, where I had discovered them. Countless holes pocketed the walls, with small barbs and thread attached. Some of the threads went through paintings, ripping large gashes into them, or the couch, puckering the leather. From the fireplace there was a scurrying and a small form zipped up the chimney, leaving behind a cloud of dust. `` Not the worst I've seen,'' said the exterminator, `` Certainly nothing compared to summer of'09. Nasty buggers, let me check writhing your walls, they like to infest walls more than anywhere else.'' He tapped, and there was a dull thud, accompanied by a chorus of screams. `` Yep, appears they've taken root in there, and by the sounds of it have built several more wall layers. I can remove them, but I have to warn you my fee will be extra.'' `` Anything it takes,'' said my mother, as he walked back to the van to get his equipment. `` Just magnets and leafblowers is all,'' he said, nodding his head, `` And if it's any consolation, if there's enough of them I can offer you a small resale value. I usually sell them to the sushi restaurant down the street.'' *** By Leo
[ WP ] A girl is having her first kiss . An old man is holding his wifes hand as she passes away . A teen parent is losing their child , while a man is getting married . Four different lives , one day - make them connect .	It was just another day, just another walk through the park. A lot had changed since the first time they had taken this walk. As they rested on the bench again, remembering how in their younger days they would run through the trees, not having to stick to the straight paths with no fear of stumbling. Over by the lakeside she noticed a young couple, the young girl was nervous she observed, whereas the young guy seemed confident as he leant in and placed a tender kiss on the young girl ’ s lips. She recalled her very first kiss with the handsome guy next to her. She wasn ’ t nervous, she remembered, she caught him off guard, he always was a clumsy fool. To her right she noticed a bride, a beauty in her white ball gown, standing close to her new man. He fiddled with his tie as he looked lovingly at his new wife. She recalled her own wedding; the loving look on his face still appeared when he thought she wasn ’ t paying attention. She looked at the path ahead and noticed a young toddler wandering alone; no one seemed to be watching as he ran along the grassy edge. “ Careless of the parents ” she muttered under her breath as she saw the many dangers that could befall the young lad. She wished for his mother to come find him quickly, she should be lucky to have had kids, not all girls could. The pain from the day she ’ d lost her only child still travelled with her, she didn ’ t even get to hold her, not even once. She turned away quickly, hiding from the memory, focusing on the happier ones she liked to remember. As he took her hand and stroked it gently, she remembered the many adventures she ’ d had with her soul mate beside her. The memories whirled inside her that day, but his smile never left her, his hand there to hold. Even now as she let it all go.
[ WP ] A man who has had no knowledge of religion meets both God and the Devil . He is the chosen one who decides whether God or the Devil inherits the Earth . The problem is , he can not tell which is which .	After the bitter cold all I remember was a warm relaxing sensation... Then I awoke here. It was nothing special, if anything it was especially mundane. Yet here I was sitting in a well lit conference room. It was just like any other conference room I had been in, a table, chairs, projector. As I began to make sense of my surroundings others started showing up. I sat patently in my seat waiting, hoping no one realized I was n't out of place. After most the seats were filled on man, he looked... experienced, I think would be the best word to describe it, stood up and began; `` Welcome, as you all know, we are here to discuss the future of Earth and all things related. It looks like everyone is here, so I think its about time we begin.'' There were small mummers around the room, until someone spoke up, `` We have been holding off on the decision for far to long and we need to come to a conclusion by the end of this meeting.'' I could see peoples heads shaking in agreement around the room. `` As of our last meeting my team has ran the numbers and feel confident our plan of action will work.'' As the room began to discuss business I began to realize my situation. I had no idea what was happening. Where was I? What was going on? I was gripped by fear and anxiety. I could hear the mummer of voices around me and the steady clicking of the clock in the background. My mind raced with half finished answers to have finished questions. After what felt only a few minutes ( although it must have been closer to an hour ) I was addressed. `` CrunchyCaptn, this is the reason we brought you here. Can you tell us your thoughts?'' I panicked. I had no idea what they had been talking about. As I stared at him with a blank face, unsure what to say, I think he started to understand. `` Can everyone leave the room, except for CrunchyCaptn and Ron'' Without any hesitation the group piled out. Leaving only three of us in the room. `` I am sorry, I am not really sure whats going on... I am not even sure where I am'' I was quick to apologize. `` No need to worry. My name is Bill, and this is Ron. We asked you here to help us solve a problem we have been having. It's unfortunate you were unable to follow our meeting, but its also rather understandable.'' `` Bill and I are trying to solve the worlds problems and we are having trouble selecting the right course of action. You see we are, as you would say, the higher powers of existence. The people of earth are struggling and we need a solution.'' `` Ahh... Ok, w-'' `` Essentially you will be the one to decide between our two very different plans of action.''
[ WP ] `` Thirteen minutes ago was a different time . Things were darker then . ''	`` How much for that one?'' `` Which one?'' `` The one in the middle cart, there. Skinny, long hair...'' Cierra turned her head up slightly, seeming to know that the two were having a conversation about her. Her hair happened to be quite long, and the slavers that kept her ensured that she and the other slaves ate only enough to survive- and barely. They were a brutal sort, from another land neighboring the one she was currently in. Or at least, the land she assumed she was in. The air felt remarkably different upon her skin, and every new breath she took in was markedly heavier than the last. It was not that the air was polluted, or even unclean. It was merely different. If her eyes saw any more than darkness, she would have had a better idea of where exactly she was. `` Right pretty one, ai n't she?'' `` I'm not concerned with her looks. The only thing I care for is her gender.'' After giving a shrill whistle, the gruff and masculine voice responded with, `` I ai n't one to judge, m'lady-'' `` You slavers are always jumping to conclusions, are you not? You are lucky that I am even doing business with you, on this day. If I were a more righteous woman, I would merely free all of them and be done with it. That, however, is a poor business decision. Others of your ilk would hide, rather than approach me so brazenly. If that were the case, then I would have a much more difficult time hiring new servants, would I not?'' The slaver made a noise that Cierra had never heard before. It was almost a sound of trepidation, or perhaps erring on the side of fear. He only just now understood the situation he found himself in, and it was too late to simply pack up and leave the way he came. `` Free, then?'' `` Free? Gods, no. I will pay for her, just as I would pay for anything. I am not extorting you, you must understand. That would be bad business.'' The two continued to speak about a price for a time, before Cierra heard a low jingle, as coin exchanged hands. Her legs tensed, and she shuffled around, aiming her body toward their voices. One thought crossed her mind as she stared at inky blackness, struggling carefully against her bonds. She would not be a slave. The door to her cage opened, and the girl sprung forth, grunting and groaning as though she were about to take her last breath. Unsurprisingly to her, she was caught, yet she was not thrown to the ground as she so expected. A pair of slender hands clutched her beneath her armpits, swung her about through the air, and then set her down on her toes, right next to the cages. The darkness clouding her vision disappeared in one instant, and Cierra squinted her eyes against the invading light. Her eyes were accustomed to being hidden behind a blindfold, after all. What greeted her was a smiling woman, silky lilac hair, and a pair of blood-red eyes. `` This one will do very nicely,'' she said, nodding to herself. `` Those who struggle the most fiercely perform the best work. This much, I know for certain.'' Cierra opened her mouth as if to spit out something vitriolic, yet no words came. She had not realized just how weak, how very tired she actually was. The shackles fell from her arms and ankles, and she only hung her head in response. Like a ball of fire, her resolve had burned brightly for only a short time, before falling dim. `` My, my... let's get you fed, then,'' the taller woman said to herself, before lifting Cierra up into her arms proper. She made for her manse, following that, leaving the slavers and their carts behind. The only words she offered them on her way were, `` In the future, if you should happen to find any more young women on your journeys, bring them straight to me, wo n't you?'' Cierra smirked as she heard one of the slavers distantly mutter something in response. She was free of them, and in time, she would be free of this woman as well. She needed only to regain her strength, before- `` What a disgusting lot they were,'' the woman remarked, `` Keeping a lady on such poor terms. It matters not, now, as you are free. I will feed you and keep you for a time, only until I am sure you will be healthy on your own. After that, you are free to either work for me, or leave.'' Cierra tilted her head just a bit. `` Free?'' she croaked, unable to say much more than that. `` Indeed. I take no pleasure in keeping men and women against their will. If you wish to leave, you will be allowed to,'' the woman responded. `` But if you should enjoy your time here, you may work for me. It is as simple as that.'' Cierra scoffed, shaking her head. She would not be bound to some rich pissant, and she was quite sure of that. Still, she felt an obligation to at least stay for a short while, given that her life was apparently saved by that very same pissant. Offering no words in response, she turned her head down and shut her eyes. At the very least, her future was looking a lot less dark than it was only a few minutes before. -- - I'm pretty tired so if this reads a bit poorly, I apologize. Sleep's been pretty messed up for a few days.
[ WP ] You 've been arrested for assault after getting into a bar fight in a very small town . You are sitting in your locked cell waiting to post bail when you hear faint screams and even some gunfire somewhere in the facility.. Not being able to leave your cell , your heart begins to race..	One thud, that's all. One thud and the lights in the entire precinct shut off. I try to look out side my small bared-up cell window only to find the midday sky to of turned black. The dark clouds above ignore the fact that its mid June and begin to snow. Police officers rush past the cells bars shouting at one another to `` Move!'' and `` Enact plan Omega!'' seemingly completely oblivious of us prisoners. `` Its the end of the world.'' those where the first words my cell mate had said the entire time I was here. He was a homeless man, ragged and defeated. His head hung low as he stared at his holed shoes. I stride away from the cell bars to the window and strain my neck in an attempt to see the street. `` What do you mean?'' `` Pretty soon the government, or what's left of it, will hit back and hard. Soon it'll just be one man hitting the other for however long the planet'll hold.'' He ca n't seriously mean. I turn my attention fully to the man `` You mean nukes?'' `` I mean its the end of the world.'' faint screams and gunfire go off from inside the building. My heart begins to race.
[ WP ] You are a successful hitman . An unsuspecting , cheery and nice girl moves next door . She knocks on your door one day and asks for help .	First thing to pop in my head: A light wrap on the door distracts me from packing the last of the empty brass cases. A quick tap of a button whooshes the hand crafted ammunition into a hidden compartment in the wall but I keep the familiar grip of my blade as I glide to the door and rip it open. My grip tightens to a painful level and my blade scythes towards the attacker. `` Hi, my name's Annie..'' and SLICK her blood sprays across the doorway but misses me entirely. where to go now: a dark comedy or the birth of a rampaging killer
[ CW ] Write a story about loss , where each sentence is shorter than the one before it .	There was a time in my life that I felt I would always walk the weary path of life alone. I spent most of my days throwing myself into work and other hobbies to fill the void. That all changed the day that her delicate hand reached out to mine with a smile. Every day she took my hand in hers and pulled me close to her. It was not long before two lives became one and we walked together. Time passed and a new life was brought into the world. The house became a home filled with life and love. Time passed and that once young life grew older. The home grew quiet and I was content. Time passed and we grew old. Soon I was alone again. Missing half of myself. Lonely with heartache. Time passed. Memories.
[ WP ] A boy downloads some shady software on his computer , and does n't read the terms and conditions . Hidden in these terms however , is some dark stuff ( im not sure what it could be )	“ Yeah yeah yeah, terms and conditions… agree… yeah, no unlawful use… whatever! Jesus! ” Henry growled, exasperated. His index finger slammed into his mouse like a machine gun. “ Just let me open the fucking thing! ” Behind his closed bedroom door, he could hear his mother calling from downstairs. “ HENRY! DINNER IN FIFTEEN! ” He silently cursed to himself. His new video surveillance software had taken at least an hour to install, and now he only had a few minutes before dinner. After eating, he would have to do the dishes, then take out the trash, then feed Sparky, then do his homework, then jump out of a twenty-story building because he would never have time to watch Jenna take a shower. He went through all the trouble of sneaking a camera into her bathroom, and for what? A message appeared on his computer screen: “ Do you agree to these terms and conditions? ” Click. “ Are you sure you agree to these terms and conditions? ” CLICKCLICKCLICK! “ Thank you for using Voyeur Pro! A shortcut will be added to your desktop. ” “ Finally, ” he said with a sigh of relief. He unbuttoned his pants. Maybe Jenna was in there now. “ DINNER TIME! HENRY! HENRY! ” “ Oh are you f…OKAY MOM! COMING! ” There would be time tomorrow morning before school. He stood, zipped up his pants, and stomped out of the room. *** His bed was soft. His eyelids were heavy. The relaxing smell of the sandalwood incense burning on his nightstand allowed his thoughts to stray. He would watch Jenna in the morning. In the morning. In the… BAM! His door exploded inward, splinters flying everywhere. He sat up, terrified, and was met with a blinding flash of light. Footsteps filled the room. He felt a sharp prick in his neck, and soon he blacked out. *** He awoke to a splitting headache. At first, he wasn ’ t sure if he had opened his eyes, or if the room was pitch black. A sudden light originating from a place just past his blind spot answered that question for him. “ What the hell is this? Where am I??? ” A deep voice chuckled in response. “ Well Henry, it appears you didn ’ t read our terms of service. ” “ Your what… ” he froze, trying to remember what exactly had been in that user agreement. “ What did I agree to? ” The man circled around in front of him, just beyond the light. Henry attempted to lean forward to get a better look. I was then that he realized he was tied to a chair. “ You see, Henry, when you agreed to our terms of service, you agreed to be tortured to death on a live stream. ” “ WHAT?!?!?! ” The man dashed up to him with a ball gag and fastened it in and around his mouth. “ Shhhhh. No more talking. Let ’ s get down to business. ” At the other end of the room, shrouded in the darkness, a tiny red light began flashing.
[ EU ] Retell a Disney story from the perspective of a background / insignificant character .	It began as a spark. A light, where maybe there had once been only darkness. Or not darkness, because that would have been something; where once there had been nothing at all. Not a deepness. An absence. But the spark flared, and grew. It was soon joined by others. They bunched together, pulsed to some unknowable, external rhythm; arcs began to fly between them, tentatively at first, and then with increasing speed and certainty. The sparks continued to expand, as did the network between them. The nothing began to recede, became actual darkness; then the darkness itself adopted a deep glow from within, reddish and warm. Finally, a bass note that concussed through everything. A sound that was like a detonation to his new, untried senses. My heartbeat, he thought, though what a heartbeat was - not to mention a concept of self, of possession - felt alien inside his mind, words that belonged to someone else, something else. Slowly, gingerly activating muscles he had never used, he pulled the thin, veiny membrane off of his face, letting it slough down to around his neck. Light burst in, too bright at first, blinding and terrible. He cried out, and was aware of other voices around him doing the same, an awful din that drummed inside his head. But soon, the panic subsided, and his senses adjusted. He gazed around in wonder. Several dozen other men - like me, he thought - sat around in their own placental folds. A few tried words, but these were hard; the words were there, but meaning was still only loosely coupled, and the process of invoking their vocal chords a trial in itself. Someone cleared his throat. He had not been there a moment before. He was like them, but had clothes - loose pants cinched with a red sash, and golden cuffs on his wrists. Also, he was blue. “ Welcome, gentlemen! ” the blue man said. “ You get to be part of the greatest show of all time! So don ’ t go anywhere - not that you could! - because now. The Magic. Starts! ” The blue man had a comical way of speaking. He punctuated his statements with puffs of blue smoke and visual aids. The man - I am a man, he thought - smiled. What a great place to be! “ Prepare yourself, germs and germs! This will not be comfortable! ” The blue man cracked his knuckles. The man didn ’ t have any reference point for pain, being so new to everything - but this was certainly the most intense feeling he had yet experienced. It felt like something was cracking open his skull and slithering into his brain. He screamed, and screamed, though no sound came out, but so much poured in - lyrics, notes, dance routines. Orders. Slowly, sanity leaked back in, and his senses normalized. Blood was leaking from his nose, running along a waxed mustache that hadn ’ t been there before. He was dressed now, in slippers, purple pants, and a pink shirt. Something was on his head. I am number fifty-four, he thought. Number Fifty-Four. A name. He didn ’ t know where the thought had come from, but it was true. One of their company had been promoted to officer, they all intuitively understood. Number One, naturally. “ Camels! PAIR! ” Number One shouted. Number Fifty-Four ’ s limbs moved on their own accord. He stood up, and walked over to Number Fifty-Three, who he could somehow recognize by sight, even though they all looked identical. They nodded to each other. Their whole company arranged themselves into a phalanx. Between each pair, a golden camel materialized. “ Camels! ” Number One shouted. “ HOIST! ” As one, the entire company lifted their camels on stretchers. Number Fifty-Four became aware that they were in a long line of other similarly-arranged groups; acrobats, swordsmen, even animals. The blue man appeared again at the head of the column, but now he was dressed differently, and was no longer blue. “ Are you all ready? ” He shouted to the assembled. Course you are, you were born ready! This afternoon, in fact. Hold onto your turbans, kids, cause heeeere we go! ” In a explosive rush, the world transformed. Suddenly the column was just outside the gates of a large desert city, a thick cloud of dust that had been kicked up by their arrival settling about them. “ And a ONE, and a TWO- “ “ CAMELS! ” Number one screamed. “ SING! ” The words came unbidden to Number Fifty-four ’ s mind, and passed immediately to his lungs. “ MAKE WAAAAAY, FOR PRINCE ALIIII! ” He sang with all his heart, not even knowing why. What is happening to me? “ MARCH! ” The column began advancing through the city. The blue-not-blue man was dancing around and singing through the crowd. This is wrong. Number Fifty-Four tried to drop his camel and run, but couldn ’ t. They just kept marching through the streets of this city, towards a palace at its center. Help me, he thought, panic rising, though he did n't know who could possibly be asking for help. What am I? What are we? Is this hell? The concept of hell was loose, only half-formed, an idea that was slick and hard to grasp, obviously unnecessary to to his task - but for some reason still included as a vague notion in his agonizing forced education. It was time for his group ’ s part. He resisted, nearly popping a blood vessel in his neck trying, but when the song reached the right point… “ HE ’ S GOT SEVENTY-FIVE GOLDEN CAMELS ” they all bellowed as one. And that was it, except for a few more group parts. All this ostentation for a single statement. Is this all I am? Soon they were through the palace gates, much to the apparent displeasure of a tall, thin man, dressed in black. He obviously saw how terrible and insane this all was. Maybe he can help me. Number Fifty-Four tried to indicate with his eyes, that he was trapped, a puppet of some mad blue man, but the man in black only had eyes for the handsome gentleman on top of the elephant. Acrobats zipped and spun around him in apparent joy. Were every one of them similarly locked into some deranged, pre-defined pattern? Were they all prisoners? Number Fifty-Four began crying, but the tears only fell inward. - - - Hours later, the entire column were huddled together in a loose camp, out in the desert where the blue man had magically deposited them after the parade had concluded. “ What happens to us now? ” Number Fifty Four asked. “ Will he let us go? ” “ Quiet, ” Number One snapped, though Number Fifty-Four could tell he was unsure as well. The blue man snapped into their midst in a puff of colorful smoke. “ You all did excellent! ” he said. “ Real A-Plus job, guys! I have to head back to the palace, Al and I have a lot of work to do. Don ’ t be strangers now! ” He smiled. Number Fifty-Four smiled back. They were going to be let free! Life stretched out in front of him, full of possibility. He could return to Agrabah, the white city they had passed through; maybe work in a shop, or open a shop! Finally find some purpose that wasn ’ t mechanical singing and - Something seemed to burst inside him, and Number Fifty-Four sighed, his imagined future folding in on itself. The sparks dimmed, and quivered for a moment; then they began rushing back into whatever void they had come from. One by one they winked out, until only darkness was left. And then the darkness vanished, and there was nothing at all.
[ WP ] Two years have passed since she broke his heart . Now he 's suddenly in her life again and she starts to question whether or not she 's the bad person he thinks she is .	`` Am I useful to you?'' His face was frozen in a cast of exceptional sangfroid, but I'd never heard such malice in his voice before. There was a saturnine glint in the corner of his eyes as he looked at me, sedulously predicting the million multitudes of responses that my brain could produce whilst realizing that however many calculations he performed, he would never be able to guess the correct one. Inchoate thoughts formed in my head but never morphed into audible words. I simply stared. He laughed. And then he was gone. Two years ago I was still in school; he was three years my senior and had just passed six months as an associate. He picked me out at an alumni networking event, a jocular smile brightening his face as he whispered to me about just how insipid the complimentary wine tasted. I snickered in reply, telling him that he was just an effete excuse for an oenophile. `` Oenophile - I learned a new word today, thank you!'' He followed that rejoinder with a request. `` What's your number?'' Smiling, I acquiesced. Who was I to turn him down? He did n't text back. He called. For the first night we talked until 4am, as I joked with him about the finer points of my resume - did I contribute to 32.5 % YOY growth, or does 33 % sound better? Or perhaps `` contribute'' was n't the best word to use, I `` drove'' 33 % YOY growth, that sounded stronger. I insisted that I had to pay him back for his assistance. I could see him smile through the speaker of my phone - `` get me something from Taco Bell, we'll call it even.'' We met a few days later for dinner, herded pell-mell into the Friday night rush at a downtown Taco Bell which had clearly seen more narcotics pass through its doors than health inspectors. Puckish flirtation occurred over Doritos Locos Tacos. Both of us were smitten. I never knew it would change so fast. As our conversations deepened, I began to sense he harbored a thinly veiled emotional lability - one moment he would jokingly recount an anecdote one of the partners at his firm made, in the next he would exhibit a brief but fiery flash of a jaundiced eye. There was a darkness buried somewhere deep, a cynicism that ate from the inside out. He was not the knight in shining armor I had hoped for. But I could not get off his horse. Recruiting season came. He was more than happy to help. I was more than happy to receive. He was indefatigable in his assistance, he would persist and push me even when my innate indolence got the better of me. He never made a move, but I knew he wanted me, but I would never give myself. He was patient, as patient as he was when I stumbled on my wording, when I tripped over 4x4 matrices in our late-night case study sessions. I landed the summer associateship I was looking for. Beaming with pride, he leaned in to embrace me. I leaned away. In retrospect, was it me, or him, who was naive? Was it me who should have signaled, or was it him who should have pushed further to find that there was no way forwards? I'll admit, I was fully conscious of his desires, and I knew that they would work to my tactical advantage. When I saw him in person, I would make sure to select that borderline-casual black dress I knew he loved for the way it must've exhibited my lissome body, at least that's what I thought from the way he would unknowingly stare, transforming momentarily into a drooling lummox when I'd have to pick up a pen or lean forwards to listen. Was it me, or was it him? He did n't have to stay. He was too smart to be so daft. He was far too prideful to be a myrmidon to love, to me, but yet he was. Is it me when it is so painfully obvious? I did n't think of him after the night he left. He was an asset on my balance sheet, and he had provided me with bountiful dividends. I had n't thought of him until I saw him on the dossier that landed on my desk yesterday afternoon. The screams of a million air particles filled the air with a whoosh as the conference door swung open. `` Hi, I'm David from McKinsey. How can I be useful to you?'' He paused. An albatross of memory slammed into his face and eviscerated his smile. `` I think you already know.''
[ WP ] `` You may have spared my death , but do n't take that to mean you have saved my life . ''	Battered and bloody, but not beaten. The sword at his feet is as worn as the man who wielded it, the edge notched to dullness. Around him lies pure carnage, the bodies of friends and foes alike amidst dying horses, already besieged by carrion birds for whom human wars, human reasons, mean nothing. Yet, encircled by his enemies, one versus innumerable, he stares at their commander with fierce defiance. Improbably, he smiles. `` Kill me.'' Commander Eckstein smiles back, dismounting from his horse to walk up to the man held between his soldiers. His own blade gleams red in the sunset, as though dyed in blood, and he throws it at his captive's feet, waving off his men. They stare at each other, warily sizing each other up... and suddenly the loser lunges for the weapon, twisting it upward in a thrust to pierce through Eckstein's heart. The clang of steel on steel echoes in the still air as the commander parries with a dagger before his soldiers tackle the attacker to the ground again, one already raising his weapon. `` No.'' `` But, sir --'' `` I said no.'' The command in the voice makes the point waver before it drops down to the ground, and Eckstein stands over the group, looking down into those calculating, burning eyes. `` I rather like you. What's your name?'' The man only spits in response, signifying his disgust, but this seems to further amuse his tormentor. He can see it in the crinkling in the corners of Eckstein's eyes, the twitch of that pompous, red mouth. A heartbeat slower, and Eckstein would be dead -- both of them know it. Yet Eckstein does n't seem to care. `` You may have spared my death, but do n't take that to mean you have saved my life. I wo n't ever thank you for this, and I'll take every opportunity I have to kill you,'' the prisoner snaps, ignoring the cuff he receives from one of his captors to silence him. `` I'll never submit to the Empire, no matter what.'' `` Perish the thought,'' Eckstein replies dryly, crouching down to meet the man's eyes squarely. `` Unfortunate, though, since we could use more men of your valor and loyalty. Still, it might be interesting to keep you by my side.'' `` Sir! We can not trust --'' `` I know that. I'd be more concerned if he begged for mercy and promised to serve me faithfully unto death. But a dog that growls at you when you pet him and bites your hand when you feed him shows his intentions honestly, would n't you say? Is n't there something thrilling about taming such an animal? The struggle for dominance against a wild beast until you break it to heel?'' There's an odd gleam in the commander's eyes as he speaks now, and before his captive realizes it, he is bound into their column. Restrained, helpless, he rides beside Eckstein as they gallop to the site of their next battle, to watch his countrymen mercilessly slaughtered before superior foes. Yet that is nothing compared to what awaits when they return to the capital. Perhaps death would have been a kinder fate.
[ WP ] There were Heroes when I was a boy .	There were Heroes, when I was a boy. Now, we only have the self-interested. The survivors. Those who will do what they can do put another day on the tally of their lives. No greater schemes; no grander plans. Nothing for others. Nothing for our people. But when I was a boy, there were Heroes. What's that, lad? Ah, bless your heart. I'll tell you. A Hero is one who fights for others. Who stands up for what is right. Who does what needs to be done to protect. For all of us, lad. You understand that? For all of us. Like what? What do you mean? Like who? Like, specific stories? I can do that. Well, first, there were the Men who Went to War. They took their lives in their hands and killed other men to protect us. Well, no. Nobody was actually coming to kill us. Well, they were protecting our... I guess you do n't have a word for it now, but we used to call it'economic interests'. They basically let us continue to live the way we were living. Of course to the detriment of others. How else would you sustain something like that, you little scamp? They fought for our... well, not safety. But certainly for the safety of our many comforts. Well, yeah. If you want to look at it that way. There were certain - individuals, I guess - who would do stuff like that. They shot people who did n't deserve it. Raped anyone who would n't stab them. Bombed the shit out of civilians who had no idea what was going on. But they were n't the heroes, you know. The heroes were the ones who did n't do that. Come on, lad. Come on. Do n't be like that. What sense does that make? A claim like that? That our soldiers were heroes by default unless they committed heinous acts that by all logic should n't be committed by moral human beings anyway? Well, what about the philanthropists? Those that dedicated their lives to causes? Like sheltering the homeless? What? No. There were still loads of homeless. But they - Well, all the ones I know about were really rich, yeah. No, huge houses. But there were those that cured disease. They - Well, no, there was n't any real progress in that regard, no. I mean there was this guy who dedicated billions to getting rid of malaria, and he... Yeah, I know what you're going to say. No, millions died from malaria. Horrible, horrible, deaths. But that's not the mark of a hero. A hero tries. I guess, technically, you could describe people who tried and did n't succeed to be'failures', yeah. I guess you could say that'failures' ca n't be considered heroes. But they - Oh, what about the everyday heroes? The people that saved a cat from being crushed by a train, or pulled an orphan from a burning building? Name one? Really? Well... I do n't agree with your logic. I do n't believe that if someone is a hero you should be able to name them. Well it did make an impact. To the person who was saved. I know that's not the same as what you're talking about, but that does n't make it less heroic. OK, OK. I see your point. There's a division between'noble' and'hero'. I'm glad you agree there are many acts of nobility. Kindness. Grace. So a hero? What about the actors who... no, forget that. What about the... Look, lad. You'll just have to take it from me. There were thousands of heroes in the time that i lived. We just did n't know what the word meant until there were n't any left. _______________________ Edit: Rampant italics
[ WP ] `` The Sounds of Earth , '' the recordings of Earth sent on the Voyager spacecraft is played for the first time since the craft 's launch .	It's just sort of a stupid hobby of mine, but sometimes you find something like this and the pay off for me is astronomical. I've been running diagnostics on this guy for a couple energy cycles and I do n't think I've scratched the surface of what it has to tell me. I found it floating in free space early one cycle and brought it on board. It is n't alive and I think it's missing a lot of its functional parts. Someone must have taken the central integration center but whoever found this guy before me left a lot of stuff that this species must have use as identification or message relaying. What I've been able to determine is that this being exercised passive, random life cycles based on symbiotic interactions with other organisms. The vessel may have served as shelter, a transport for resources or as a way of communicating information related to mating. You can use this needle and this disc to create sound energy. When I first did this I thought I had successfully brought it back to life but it's just stored energy output from when it was living. The spectrum of energy frequencies in the sound are very narrow. At first I thought it was monotonous static nonsense but when I ran a program analyzing the waves we found some very interesting data. First of all, this being appears to require a home world during its rearing. I'm not sure if the mechanisms by which it leaves this world are still present. There are all sorts of data being relayed in the couple of energy systems that seem conducive for deciphering this organism's function in whatever ecosystem it may have originated. The sound energy seems to be the most important but there's also some light energy signals that I think act as a preliminary identification signal for some other receiver. The light signals seem to code for basic instructions about reading the vessel whereas the sound signals seem to describe a much more intricate level of communication. It's impossible to determine what information is being coded in these sounds but when I ran the language analysis phoneme identifier, it detected with a high degree of confidence a wide variety of meaningful sounds that are probably the result of millions of years of evolution. My best guess is that this vessel is a suborganism, a simple message carrying component for a much more expansive organism, perhaps an organism that spans many solar systems and is made of nebulous component bodies, using free space as a synapse, as many larger organisms tend to do. This was probably one of thousands of similar message relaying suborganisms given how easy it was to intercept ( most expansive organisms integrating across multiple bodies in different parts of space require a high degree of redundancy in their neural network of sensory bodies ). I doubt many of these reach their target receptor given the primitive navigational structures being used. Probably a lot of them are released and only a few attach to receptors ( receptors that may also be suborganisms ) that sort of interpret the sound disc's information which probably includes evolutionarily-determined instructions about sustaining the multi-solar-system-scale organism. I think this process is probably not dissimilar to the act of DNA transcription that takes place in our own cells. It's funny that this sub organism, which seems so ugly and different to us, has a purpose and process of dissemination that probably relies on the same fundamental concepts of energy sensation, pseudo-cognitive information integration and evolution that are also apparent in the microscopic biological processes of our own bodies.
[ WP ] At the end of your adventure , you have to fight the final enemy . To train , you have eliminated entire villages . You find at the end , the final boss ' power is based on the amount of suffering you 've caused .	`` You fed me; now I will be your demise.'' It said, the voice echoing throughout the ornate sanctum. `` Explain.'' I said, staring at the black cloaked figure, hovering lightly off the ground. `` Your evil deeds have made me who I am. The choices you made have strengthened me into your undoing. The settlers on the road who you mercilessly slaughtered instead of helping repair their wagon are my power. The village of innocents that you raided and burned to the ground for the small pieces of gold and metal are my strength. The countless adventurers you turned on and back stabbed for their small collections are my fury. Now you will know their PAIN!'' It called, soaring toward me, its wispy hand outstretched and wrapping around my neck. It hovered there, its grip like a tight turtle neck around my throat, but nothing more. Its hooded head looked down at its own hand, then back up. I could tell it was confused. `` Let me enlighten you on the truth.'' I said, swatting the wraith like being to the ground with little effort. `` You simply know the intention of what I would do, but not the action I would take. I've known about you, studied you, so I knew exactly how this encounter would end up.'' `` This is not possible. Your terrible deeds would strengthen me...'' It began, but I cut it off. `` The settlers have themselves a new wagon, thanks to the generous amount of gold I gave them and the proper direction I sent them so they would avoid the band of raiders coming from behind me. The village I burned as I warned the inhabitants that an enemy nation would come through and slaughter them are now safely in the mountains with all their supplies as the invading army now starves, thanks to the raiders cutting off their supply lines. The adventurers now head to the mountains toward the villagers, eager to help those in need. All I had to do was think of doing them wrong and you simply ate up my intentions, rather than my actions. How easy you are to deceive.'' I said, kneeling before the shade like creature. `` Then I am undone. I have no power.'' `` No, not yet.'' I began. `` I will spare you now, since you have nothing of value to me. But I will take the chest you guarded, and leave you here to ponder your mistake. You best hope the next player does n't has a strategy guide.'' I finished, smashing open the creatures chest and casually strolling out of the structure. The weapon it guarded was exactly what I wanted: a great axe with cleaving. With all the villagers and adventurers grouped up, taking them all out at once was going to be way easier...
[ WP ] You wake up in a world where music is a schedule 1 drug .	“ Well, well, well, What do we have here? ” the officer said, squinting in the harsh spotlight. He leaned into my car and plucked something from between the seat cushions. “ Is this what I think it is? ” He held up the offending object in disgust, careful to touch only the edges. I stared slack-jawed. I couldn ’ t believe it, a genuine Lady Gaga CD. “ Naw man. Oh hell naw man you didn ’ t find that on me! You planted that shit! ” I sputtered, backing further away into the weeds lining the side of the road. Didn ’ t get me far since his partner had planted himself directly behind me. Like backing into a wall. Friends say I have the worst luck and if this wasn ’ t hard proof I don ’ t know what is. I ’ d already been having a bad week: my car was on it ’ s last leg, the seasonal work was drying up, and my landlady was threatening to evict me because I was late on the rent again. But then Lonnie called. She needed me. It could be different this time she said. She ’ d stopped using. I pretended not to hear the secret strains of Mozart in the background. She probably had her favorite pair of headphones nearby sporting that glazed look she got in her eyes right after she took a hit. For once, I almost had the strength to say no but then I thought “ What the hey! I need to get away, she needs me ( at least until she doesn ’ t again. ) It ’ s a win-win. ” I threw some clothes together, hopped in my old rust bucket, and off I went into the night. And just when I thought things might be getting better I get pulled over in the middle of nowhere by State Troopers Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee here. Two of the biggest, meanest mofos I ’ ve ever seen. “ Don ’ t you raise your voice to me you little Pop head, ” officer # 1 hissed, “ or I might just be able to “ find ” some other stuff in there. Maybe some Beats headphones, eh? Sprinkle a little NSYNC on the dashboard? ” I suddenly realized I was in a very bad situation and I couldn ’ t see any way out. This can not be happening. * “ Oh yeah partner. ” Officer # 2 spoke up for the first time since this began. “ I saw him drop this harmonica. That ’ s proof of manufacturing with intent to distribute! That ’ ll get you locked up for a long time son! “ He towered over me, beaming. It was that smile that pushed me over the edge. I saw how it was all gon na go down: my arrest, the courtroom, the jumpsuit, prison. My whole life gone over a lie. And just like that I was done with it. All of it. I was tired of just scraping by. Tired of Lonnie leading me around by my smaller head. Tired of bills, responsibilities, stress, everything. I tore into the officers. A real tongue lashing. I called them things that would've had Satan taking notes. And just as Officer # 2 lunged at me from behind I saw my chance and took it. My elbow connected with his stomach as his eyes bugged out. I wrestled the MasterBlaster from his belt, took aim right at his temple and fired. His eardrums exploded and drops of blood slipped from his ear canal. Before Officer # 1 could react I swung around, took aim, and did the same thing to him. He collapsed to the ground vomiting violently. Hell of a thing those Blasters. Music junkies used to be a minor annoyance but once music was made a Schedule 1 drug police forces needed more effective ways of crowd control. They work by sending a concentrated cone of sound in the direction they ’ re pointed. Very effective against the tougher eardrums of heavy music users though they ’ re meant to be used at much larger distances. Charged on adrenaline I flung away the weapon, lunged down the embankment, and took off running into the woods. It ’ s been 2 months now in the wild and I ’ ve learned to adapt. I have a shelter, food, a fire. I keep a low profile, only going into town when I know I won ’ t be seen. At first it was just until the heat died down but you know, I kinda like it here.
[ WP ] Though we may die , our machines of death live on without us .	Captain's Log. Entry 20:12:7 General Prath from Aretha I am completely sure that this is the last log I will ever write and transfer to The Library. This is the reason why I will write a little about the history of this mess we have created in a way. We attacked a cornered animal. It was about 24 clicks ago when we first encountered the civilization Hue-men ( thus called because of the wide range of specimen colorization ) in the Sol system. IT was not an important find and was generaly overlooked by all. The planet had a vast biodiversity thus it had not evolved in a peaceful and united world. Considering that they had already visited other space objects near them and murder was legal for conflict resolution and consumption, they did not fall under the `` Peaceful Sanctum'' article. That means they were left on their own devices and, as it has happened to many worlds like these, eventually to be looted by far more advanced scavangers as fair game. The problems started after the first `` new world tourists'' arrived. The Hue-man population was used for fun and non-scientific experimentation. It was looted for resources and specimens of Hue-men were sent to semi-legal zoo/prisons as it usually happens. The whole situation was completely standard and a surprise to no one, til the local Sympozo race decided to take Sol under their leadership and thus maintained some sort of an order, not letting ships visit the hue-men and isolating them once more. The surprising thing is that it worked and life for hue-men seemed to return in ordinary path once again. Sympozo seemed to trade knowledge with hue-mans and recieved... This is where it gets blurry. What exactly the Sympozo recieved from the low technology and barbaric Hue-men is not clear. Sympozo were cleary a more advanced and calm of the two. For one transport ship could have destroyed their whole `` military advancement'' in 2 hours. It is possible that Sympozo did it just to protect the Hue-men, as they have once been in a similar situation, but managed to survive. But we will never know. All that is left from Sympozo are the radio waves they used to send out and those are not `` edible''. While Sympozo were never too social of a civilization, they seemed to disappear completely in a blink of an eye. Then all the scout ships sent seemed to disappear too. No matter the amount of ships sent, they all disappeared Without a trace, without as much as an SOS. The best scientists of ours could not see into any of the systems anymore. IT was liek the suns themselves had disappeared and all that was left was a mist. And a mist it was and a mist that moved. This would n't be the first time a civilization has commited a suicide. To make a profecy come true or to harm others. But this will be the first to succeed. The Federation sent the fastest scout ship to inspect the mist and then to return to their home planet. It was not to engage, not to participate. To fly as close and as far from the mist as possible and return with the data collected. What exited The Federation's planet as a ship, returned as a gray mist. `` The mist'' is a lttle, microscopic and almost nondetectable robot of dubious sentinence. The second it comes in contact with any kind of a material, it deconstructs it and creates a duplicate of itself. A single robot like that, boarding anything, turns it into a myst of itselves. The mist headed straight to The Federation's home planet. Missiles were launched and at first seeemed that they are actually succeeding in damaging the vile creature that approached. But those were not splatters. Each missile got boarded by the tiny robots and created it into a mist of itself, but it continued the path it has started. Thousands of mist rockets flew to all the points of the galaxy and space as we know it, consuming everything in their path. Just as the ships that were fleeing of The Foundation's home planet, all with a tiny robot on their board already. While I understand the gravity of the situation, it is kind of beautiful. Every time a material is broken and a robot is constructed out of it, the new robots are in the color of said material. The mists that became out of rockets were bright blue. All the ships that left the planet soon became a mist, colored in the ship's color. Be it Argothan blue or Gaety calm yellow. And the space became the mist. And the mist was now what is. I am sure that nothing will become of me now. The space is littered with small robots that are floating around like dust. It takes just one. It is strange in a way. What is a lesson if it wo n't be taught, what is a law if there's noone to rule. Hue-men knew slavery all too well to be subjected to it. It is a race that knew war and saw the fate of the losers. I wonder if they realized the worlds that they've destroyed and wonder if they did it exactly because of it.
[ WP ] Everyone is born knowing the day and month of their death , but not the year .	Engraved in everyone's wrist is their day and month of death, but not the year. The 28th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America states that it is legally the job of every child-bearing doctor to singe the skin of a newborn baby's wrists to make the date illegible, to prevent chaos. However, there are many foreign cultural and religious groups that differ. I was one of them. I am forced to wear long sleeved shirts even in the harshest of heat conditions. I am extremely anxious around the police, but so far I have n't been caught yet. However, due to my religion-Sikh, I obviously draw much police attention due to Sikh's distinct long beards and extensive hair wrapped up in a turban. I am a target of fear, everyone thinks I'm a terrorist, and cringe in fear when they see me. I've only glanced at my wrist engravement a few times in my life. They were when I was very young, so of course, over time, the date has escaped from my mind. I do n't remember. I'm glad, because I do n't want to know. Sometimes I'm extremely tempted to know the date. To my distress, I checked just minutes ago. My curiosity has got the best of me.ya know what they say `` curiosity killed the cat.'' In fact, that might actually be true for me. The date today: March 21. The date on my wrist: March 22. I could die tomorrow.I can die in 52 years and 1 days. How many March 22s will I have left in my life. The date is now engraved in my mind. My mind is tainted and I wo n't ever forget, that's for sure. I do n't know what to do. Do I stay home, go have a fun, dangerous day and risk killing myself in the act? Do I go to the hospital for anything just in case? Or will going to the hospital kill me. Do i stay in my bed all day, or live like it really IS my last day? I'm not ready for this. The probability is very tiny, but it still exists. And that scares the living shit out of me. I do n't know who in my family does or does n't know their date of death, but I NEED to know. My family believes that it is wrong to mutilate a baby's body in such a way, but they choose to not look at it. Or at least to my knowledge. I would n't be surprised if everyone at one point took a glance. I dont know if anyone in my family knows MY date of death. They want death to come naturally, so we know it really was fate. That we ca n't be anxious and run away from it or cause it. It's still early morning. I woke up to finish my studies before school, but I ca n't help but write this now. The date is so close, this could be the last time to document my life. Ok, i'm back. I just creeped through my 4:30 am house to check the wrist of EVERY member in my family. Mom: March 22. Dad: March 22. Older Sister: March 22 Younger sister: March 22 Brother: March 22. Grandma: March 22. I will die with my entire family. That's for certain. My Grandma is already 98, so I cant have much time left. It must be coming. The connection of my entire family being killed off all at once is more realistic than everyone dying on the same day in different years. Of couse, I could n't help but check the internet. March 22. All I see: leaked documents of people's baby wrists. March 22. March 22. March 22. March 22. Articles of people who managed to keep their cursed from birth engravement. SOMETHING will happen on March 22. Something horrendous. And whatever it is, I wont make it through. I continued to browse conspiracy theories online. Those always interested me, but when they did n't affect me. Now, I'm uncontrollably shivering in terror. Goodbye, i still have things to do, if tomorrow really is my last day. Our last day. I would n't dare tell my family... Breaking News: Canada declares aggressive war on the United States. There are rumored threats of a nuclear attack. Shit.
[ WP ] With a new technology that converts one very basic human emotion into energy , the energy crisis seems solved . Until one day the very huge flaw comes to light .	Apologies for any mistakes, I'm on mobile and this is also my first story write. The machine was great. It worked on a wireless system, you did n't even need to be'plugged' into anything, as people were afraid of when the machine was first announced, instead it harnesses your aura. See, all those so-called'crazy' people that claimed to be able to see your aura, they were n't lying. Well, most were n't. The problem was, none of them knew for sure what it meant, so they made guesses about it and gave you fortunes, predictions, advice, whatever, according to what THEY thought your aura meant. Until science came along and stepped in. One scientist, a John Doe ( yes that is his actual name ) was trying to improve some sort of goggles, night vision, infrared, binocular goggles for snipers, I'm not entirely sure on the details. What he invented was not an improvement of existing technology, however, but something new. His goggles could see your emotions. You ever notice how when someone is happy, being near them, you can almost FEEL that they are happy? Same with an angry person? Or a sad person? Jealousy? We have thought it was based on things like the faces they make, body language, words, etc. And that may be true, but mostly we were just subconsciously registering their aura. And thanks to John Doe, we could now see and read their emotions through their auras. This of course led to new technology's developed that revolved around emotions. One team of scientists found a way to harness emotions through a type of patch, and the patch could hold a certain amount of that emotion. Different patches, different emotions. Surrounded by imbeciles? Slap an AngerPatch on your back, arm, stomach, somewhere, and feel calmer in seconds. It does not leech off all your anger, you will still be angry, but it takes off the edge, so to speak. It will continue to soak up your anger at the ignoramuses around you instilling is full. And one of the other features of these patches is they work in reverse as well. In a good mood one morning? A HappyPatch can soak that up, you'll still feel happy but you'll have a happy reserve as well. Save it for a rainy day when you're feeling down, put it on backwards, and it'll cheer you right up. All of this was the craze for a few years until another team of scientists found they could turn the energy from your aura into energy that can power things. They combined this with the patches to create a wireless power source. All the patches do is dull your emotion a bit, and you can either use the emotion later to brighten your day or do whatever, or you can power your home or sell your emotions to power someone's business. It all seemed like the perfect solution. Teenagers especially enjoyed it as life was no longer so emotional and they made some money off of it. Perfect, until the side effects were noticed. Emotion junkies became more common, people wanting a full HappyPatch so they could feel good, which led to emotion farms inn third world countries. Human trafficking was no longer for prostitution, but for emotions, and power was the goal. Raw energy available for use as whatever. Military technology built around remote connection to emotional sources allowed soldiers no need for ammunition, the energy harvested from emotions was fired and that pure energy. Was enough to kill s grown man. Wars over populated regions such as India, any country with a large population that could get them to wear patches had enough to supply their army, machines too, running off of and firing energy harvested from emotions. America, China, Russia, they were the big hitters, getting greedy, desperate, and also to secure their power so they were not threatened, each started expanding it's territory. America and Canada have long been good partners, they officially signed documents starting that they shall henceforth be known as The United States of Americanada. Still just the USA or America to most, although now much bigger. Russia continued to invade into Europe starting with the Ukrainian region, and China moved south. North Korea also made big moves, having given citizens FearPatches and made huge stores of energy then moved on South Korea, creating Korea, instead of a divided Korea. Things were tense between the three main countries with their supporters creating energy to back them up. Pills were invented, a new drug, it helped stimulate emotions and became a world wide best seller on the first day. Everyone wanted to feel emotions but provide power for themselves and to their country to ensure their own survival. Relations were tense between the countries. Until the second Shot Hard Around the World was fired. Vladimir Putin was assassinated by someone believed to be Chinese, but the Americans were also suspicious. The Chinese blamed the Americans, blame was thrown out on all sides, and tells started mobilising. China was the first to be attacked by both America and Russia, since China had such a large population to power robots, guns, factories, anything else. Then America turned on Russia and started shooting them miss-fight against China. Probably eople were gunned down on all sides and losses are high. The war is going on right now, and had been for the last 78 years. And a side effect of the patches has been found. People are not producing the quantities of emotions they did before, supply is much lower than the demand suddenly. People are becoming emotionless. We right we had the perfect solution, it powers buildings, cars, it's clean, emotionless, We still use hydro and solar power, and it also is our weapons. Until it ran out. It took 147 years for it to happen, but it happened. Suicide rates were high, half the world was either killed or committed suicide, countries became desperate and ruthless, killing the no longer helpful elderly, and then it stopped. Everything just stopped working. People everywhere in the world lost power all at once, and nothing would work again. Scientists tried for days to figure out why, but could not, and even if they could we would not know about it. They have no way communicate with anyone not directly nearby. Since the War of Emotions, communities, militias, tribes, different groups have formed. Some benevolent, some ruthless and tyrannical, but slowly, very slowly, civilization is being restored. No one ever figured out why everything suddenly stopped working, and neither emotion power nor gasoline nor electricity worked anymore, but none of it did. And now we have to rebuild.
[ WP ] `` You see , I create monsters . ''	The pen scrabbled on the paper, like a climber scrabbling for purchase. The motion was quick, decisive- a practiced motion that was unpredictable and violent. It was late at night, perhaps even early morning, and the story was still underway. Clanking metal, leathery flapping, and a multitude of other sounds came from seemingly nowhere as Jonathan wrote with vigor. Suddenly, he stopped and stood. There had been a sound downstairs that was unlike anything from the book. Crashing glass. A burglar? He moved down the stairs with his book in hand, writing more rapidly now. There were steps that were not his own. Definitely an intruder. He shut all the lights, and the book glowed as brightly as a child's laugh. He turned the corner and crouched down, finally looking up from his writing. Indeed, it was a burglar; a man in a black track suit stood there with a bag in one hand and a small dirk in the other. Jonathan stood up. `` You are in the wrong house, friend,'' he said, striding towards the man, book open to a certain page, `` because, you see, I create monsters.'' The man turned and ran, but it was too late. Jonathan smiled and went back to writing as the screams echoed through the vacant house.
[ WP ] You 're the cynical narrator of a story . However , you hate the optimistic main character and only continue to narrate hoping something bad happens to him . With ill-will , narrate a day in the life of this character .	It was another uneventful day at the office in the ever increasingly boring life of Stanley, although he would never admit this to himself. “ Every day you wake up is a miracle in itself, ” Stanley would remember whenever the monotony set in. Those budget self help tapes were a real bargain. “ You need only appreciate the good things in your life, ” the cassette player of his mind would recount. “ And then the bad things wo n't seem so bad. ” Stanley, a true shepard among sheep, took this deliberately vague and unfulfilling advice to heart. And so he thought upon the good in his day to day, all the while staring at the lifeless segments of code displayed on his computer that would eventually become a functioning log-in page. Stanley thought of his beautiful girlfriend of two weeks. He thought of her lovely smile, and of how how her hair flowed in the wind. It truly was a stunning profile icon, and had Stanley not been so distracted by their e-dates, he could find the same picture in a better resolution. He would need only image search “ attractive brunettes ”, and find it within the first five results. Perhaps Stanley would meet her soon, provided she finally agreed to one of his numerous invitations to a date in real life. Any day now. Stanley's mind drifted also to the warm welcome he would receive after the hour commute home through the middle of downtown Chicago. He thought of how brisk the cold winter air would feel as it froze the insides of his nostrils, and beat through his thin jacket. He thought of his run down studio apartment, which was a real steal at just over two grand a month. Perhaps he would splurge from his usual diet of ramen noodles and a cup of water. Perhaps he would boil an egg to slice over top of it, and grab a cola from the ice box. It would make his usual nightly routine of enjoying re-runs of old sitcoms on his ancient tube television that much more interesting. Eliminating these ever so exciting thoughts from his mind, Stanley clicked on; marveling at the “ if/and ” statements appearing on screen in reaction to his elegant keystrokes. After finishing a particularly long segment of code, Stanley sat back from his desk to marvel at his work; An indiscernably crude mishmash of slashes and characters. Truly a masterpiece to behold. Perhaps he may finish ahead of schedule again, allowing himself the luxury of enjoying his plastic-wrapped ham sandwich, nestled away in his batman lunchbox, within the comfort of his cubicle. This would allow his lunch break to be spent in the usual manner, with a trip to his building's roof. One ritual pivotal to Stanley's routine is his thirteen-flight journey up the steps of his office complex. He would use the elevator were it not for the occasional shrieking of the support cables that would make even a non-claustrophobic man nervous. He had decided however, that the exercise was needed anyway, as he had noticed he was losing muscle lately. Once out onto the roof, Stanley would take in the sights and, once comfortable enough, begin fantasizing. He would imagine the life he wanted for himself. A wife who loved him. A house in the suburbs. Perhaps a pet cat; Stanley had always liked cats. He wanted children as well. Perhaps a son, which he would of course name Stanley, and who would be the fifth generation in the family to be named in such a fashion. He also wanted a daughter. One he would buy dolls for, and give piggyback rides to, and protect from boys when she reached that age. “ A perfect life ” Stanley would think to himself while standing along the ledge of the building. If only he would jump this time.
[ WP ] As I lie in my deathbed , I realize I will never return to 1932 .	1932 was the time she said she'd be there. And she was there at 1932. Well, 1933 to be exact. She's got an air of order around her, but even people like her mess up from time to time I guess. I grin, hold her hand, tell her about this place. 1932 is the name of the restaurant I tell her about. I tell her why it's 1932. Why it is n't 1932. I lean in a bit, whisper softly: why the entire story about 1932 that I just told her was completely made up. She takes a second to process this, shoves me back with a playful manner. 1932 is the dish I order. I look to her: `` And for the lady?'' She grins, fumbles around, catches the menu with inhuman reflexes. I grin back. `` She'll have the same,'' my mouth spouts out, my hands taking the menu gracefully from her fingers. 1932 was the cab number we hailed afterwards, We had a tad bit too much to drink, her arms around my body as she guided me towards the waiting yellow sphere. My fingers are noodles as they grope for my wallet- `` Flat 1932,'' I slur. The robotic cabbie turns its head mechanically and repeats my address to me: 1932. 1932. I nod vigorously, realize that they still have n't implanted optics into the cabbies. She takes my cue successfully, repeats my words to the cabbie: 1932. We stumble together in a drunken waltz towards the elevator doors, she laughing at my every horribly cheesy joke. I press the button: `` 1932's also the name of my apartment number,'' I tell her, my head shaking back and forth as my body combats the drink inside of me. She laughs again. She laughs at everything. 1932 was the year that the picture of the ship outside my apartment was taken. She points to it: `` You think we'll ever get to the point where we'll be able to go there?'' I smile: `` We'll go to 1932. I promise.'' And 1932 was the number in front of me as I emptied out my disgusting bed of everything I kept in it. 1932 was the number of times I thought I said `` here?'' and she replied `` I do n't know'', and I would n't have blamed her for not knowing all those 1932 times. 1932 times we fumbled, 1932 times we moved, 1932 times we loved. And we do this so many times. We do this exact thing 1932 times. We want to do this thing 1932 times more. But 1932 was the rule that took her away from me. 1932 were the amount of sirens outside, blaring into my ears at the break of dawn. 1932 the time they came to take her. 1932 times they said to me `` Human-android relations unallowed.'' 1932 times I tell them she's not a robot, she's a test subject, we were conducting experiments. 1932 times I see her shock. 1932 times I try to tell her that I was n't telling the truth, that there was love between us, that I knew that love could exist in even the most dead of places. 1 time I said `` 1932'' to them instinctively as they asked me for her serial number. 1 time I felt happy. 0 times I'll return to 1932.
[ EU ] The Scooby-Doo gang started off by hunting relatively harmless criminals but they 've stepped up to solving mysteries with real , dangerous murderers and rapists .	A forty something year old man with closely cropped blonde hair approached the front door of Leslie's, a semi run down strip joint just outside of downtown. He sat down at the nearest table and lit up a cigarette, just in time for the star performer, Daphnis Damzelia. She came onstage to whoops and hollers from the crowd, making dance moves that would give children nightmares. It made Fred smile and reminisce about how good he used to have it. He quickly shook it off though. He was a hardened man now and he was a part of perhaps one of the most prolific crime teams in existence, even though nobody would recognize them now. He headed backstage and straight to her dressing room. Daphne was undressing as he walked in. He embraced her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. `` Not here Fred,'' she said just as he kissed her, `` you know I hate you seeing me like this.'' `` Look, I'm sorry but I had to talk to you right away. A lead on the Gemini Serial Killer took me straight down here. I was hoping you knew something.'' She sighed, `` well, I did hear something, but not about that... Did n't you ask Velma? My old school methods of gaining leads are nothing compared to her cyber investigations.'' She was right in a sense. Velma was the only one with a `` normal'' life. While she did help tremendously with their underground crime unit, she had also developed new ways to encrypt information, landing her millions of dollars. `` I already tried Velma. This guy is completely off the grid. Damn. What was it?'' `` What was what?'' she responded. `` You said you had heard something earlier. Not about the killer but about something else.'' `` Right, well... I... I heard somebody talking about Mexico.'' `` What the hell does that have to do with anything?'' `` I know but... It's just what they said. It's probably nothing... I heard them say something about a ruthless new drug lord.'' `` And?'' `` And he's got... He's got a sentient dog.''
[ WP ] When people arrive in heaven they choose what they look like . This decision is irreversible , and it must match their own body at some point during their mortal existence . Today you meet someone who looks like an emaciated old man .	It was curious, seeing him move so spryly. There he was, with bones visible through papery skin, yet he sprung from cloud to cloud like an Olympian. He noticed me staring, and wandered over. `` Hullo!'' he said. `` Beautiful day, innit?'' `` As always,'' I answered, smiling. I'd heard it a thousand times before, but it was n't annoying -- it's always nice to be reminded of one's fortune. Following his own example in his approach, he wasted no time -- although we had nothing but. `` Wondering about The Choosing, are n't you?'' he said, referring to the ceremony at which all those admitted to Heaven choose their appearances. `` You wonder of my choice?'' I nodded. `` And of the reasons leading to it.'' A wink. `` And who does n't? Well, of course, it do n't affect my movement,'' he said, jumping and clicking his heels. I smiled at his whimsy. `` Of course,'' I noted. `` But surely you have not chosen purely on practicality; any choice is equally valid in that regard.'' `` No,'' he said, his face growing solemn. `` I've chosen as a reminder. When I was a boy, I was n't deserving of the gifts bestowed upon me. I was a snot, a lecher, a usurer. As I passed from age to age, so did I from sin to sin. `` The man who stands before you is not the man from those years. That man deserves not to be in Heaven. Whether this man does...'' he said, motioning to his delicate body. ``... I am merely thankful. And I do not wish to forget that gratitude.'' And he skipped away.
[ WP ] You know you are about to die . Write a letter to the person that might find your body .	Hello Friend, I tried to make it as far in as I could. I really did. But when your body is ravaged as much as mine was, everything becomes a struggle. The paddle in, the portaging, all of it was hard. I thought I vetted the route better, but i guess not. It's ok though; I really wanted to be here. I hope there are no bears on this island. I'm not going to pretend that the eagles or turkey vultures are n't going to eat my when I'm gone, but I want something of me to remain here. I have not traveled much in my life, but this place is my favorite in the whole world. I do n't think anything can beat the call of the loons at night or the pine trees ringing the lakes. I probably do n't have to tell you that. I'm glad I made it this far. Friend, I'm going to ask a favor of you. It's somewhat selfish and against the rules of this place and the leave no trace ethic that it needs to keep being incredible, but it's worth a shot. Please do not tell anyone where my remains are. Please. The Forest Service would remove my remains and my family would be contacted, but they know not to expect to see me again. They know that I went of to die. That the cancer was just too much and I wanted to go on my own terms instead of living a half-life of pain and misery with a treatment that was incapable of saving me. Just keeping me alive long enough for them to come to terms with that I already have. I understand how jarring this must be for you, and for that I'm sorry. You probably thought this was an inviting place to have lunch and did not expect to find my remains here. Now, I tasked you with something that you were n't expecting. If you do n't want to, I wo n't blame you. I ca n't blame you. I never wanted to burden anyone by doing this. But I just lost my strength. I could n't make it further in, to the most remote lake where I would n't be a bother to anyone. This is n't a plea, though. I wo n't be mad if you let someone know. I just hope that you can understand where I came from. What brought me here to die. Why I wanted to end my suffering here. I was not a religious man in life; I spent my life refusing to believe in concepts like fate or destiny, but I'm glad that you found me. That someone found me here. Maybe it happened for a reason. I ca n't be sure or unsure either way. But love your life, friend, however you see fit. Treasure those around you. Treasure your memories and where you came from because at the end, that's all you take with you. But more importantly, do n't be afraid. Please do n't be afraid. You can be sad when your life comes to a close, but being afraid just takes time away from those things that you treasure. Love, G
[ WP ] You have a power . Everyone thinks this power is completely lame . They are wrong .	On a patch of dirt it squirmed, mindless and insignificant. A small pink earthworm. `` Watch,'' I told them. `` It'll do it, just wait.'' I slowly raised my hand palm-up in front of me. My small audience passed all kinds of looks, mainly the sort that say, `` this man is not sane.'' Yet they remain observing patiently. A few moments passed, and the worm was yet to do much more than wiggle. I was losing viewers at this point, but I did n't care. It was happening now, I could feel it. Slowly that little worm began to raise - what I assumed was - its head, and stand on end. The small group of people around me immediately dispersed. `` Worm-charming, dude... are you for real?'' They had no idea what was taking place beneath their feet. No one would witness what was about to happen but I did n't care. With both hands raised now, I could feel a familiar buzzing in the bottoms of my feet, and through the dry earth popped the head of a second worm. And a third. And a fourth. Within minutes, hundreds surrounded me - then thousands. I threw my hands over my head and the worms bound together, into a single large writhing body. It lowered it's head and atop I climbed, as more continue to rise and join the growing beast below me. I then allowed them to overtake me, and I was soon covered, head-to-toe. I stretched my arms out to my sides and at once the worms on my body perished, leaving a thick, hard, leather-like covering. It did n't take long for the crowd to regain interest - good news for me. There they stood, mouths agape like turkeys in the rain, stiller than the cold inside a refrigerator - full of meaty sustenance. With a point of a finger, my worms let loose, and so began the feast.
[ WP ] You ’ re a regular at Starbucks . This time you go , the lady writes `` RUN '' on your takeaway cup .	In clear black there on my coffee cup was written three letters. RUN. Every bloody time. No no I said to the sweet-looking girl behind the counter. It's okay, but my name is Rum. Like a bottle of... my dad wrote it as a spite against my mum, it was a reminder to myself and everyone else that she'd drank a fair bit while I was getting growing in her. Actually, those letters were n't so similar to every other time, the pen was running out, and actually they were capitals. Large and shaky. I looked up. The girl was n't so sweety sucking, she was n't a normal little coffee shop girl. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks drawn into her gums. Fuck she was terrified. What had she written again RUN? instead of Rum? or run for runs sake or maybe run for my sake or for who's sake? My shoulder numbed, I felt the world go green and the sounds in it stretch away until they sounded like a radio switched on in another room. The cup, RUN, slipped from my hand and the white of my shirt went brown first, then crimson, then black.
[ Wp ] being the grim reaper has its privileges . Write a day in the life of the dealings with the dead .	Moist, rank air dissipated through the light let in by the windows. Shadows and dark corners comprised the home, but there, in the green leather recliner near the edge of the room was the body of one Sylvia Conrad. Flys buzzed around her open mouth creating a soft racket that seemed to make a sweet harmony with the old stainless steel fan that dronned away next to her. `` Could this place be anymore cliche for a junkie's home'' pondered the grim, while stepping over one of the piles of rubbish that littered the soiled floor. `` Fuck You!'' Sylvia said in her slow southern drawl. `` Took you enough time to fucking get here'' she retorted, more angrily now. The grim's head bobbed up and turned sharply, surprised at her lively nature. He would have smiled had he been given faculties to do so. She had been hidden from him as he entered the room. She sat there naked on the brick hearth, attempting to turn up and over a small bit of charcoal that had spilled out onto the floor. Her body was mostly wrinkles now, the loose skin hung from her apparition, breasts lied flat and exposed, and long legs stretched away from her waist. The skin sagged along the contours of her femor, pot marked by cellulite, scars and bruises. He had been late. Her physical body was clearly wasted. The head laid back, mouth and eyes wide open on the top of the headrest. Her right arm dangled from the side with the rubber tourniquet conspicuously beneath it. The cloths on the body were stained and smelled of alcohol and tobacco. The grim hated junkies. typically they simply sobbed, or fought as if their whole soul was still crashing from drugs. This time he thought it may be worth while to wait. Perhaps a family member would find a way to visit and escort her. It was n't always the Grims' job to release a spirit after all. Unfortunately some people really do die alone. `` It's time to go'' said the Grim, sternly. He smoothly walked to her, and outstretched his gloved hand. `` Do you need to take one last look around?'' he asked, with only a small amount more compassion in his voice. `` At this dump?'' quipped Sylvia. `` Nah, I think I have spent enough time in hell''. The Grimm looked closely into her face. Her blue eyes pierced back at him, and allowed him to see her life. He knew she was in pain. It was rare to find people that actually managed to push people away from their own lives. Most that he recovered had just shitty friends and shitty families, but it was n't their fault they where alone. He saw she was no different. He could see the beautiful young woman she had been, but such a dark life from start to finish. She was orphaned as an infant of a rape. Being mixed races, gave her no help as she grew up, rarely being accepted in this segregated small town. But her beauty blossomed, and yet only gave her more troubles. She grew to hate her body, and with it turned to all the wrong places to numb her pain. She took his hand and slowly stood, still balancing herself with the other arm on the mantel. As they proceed to walk to the door hand in hand they heard voices outside. Children, running towards the door. `` little fuck heads wo n't leave me alone even in death'' said Sylvia now racing full speed towards the door as the bell rang loud in the home. She reached viciously for the knob, twisting and swinging in one motion, only to find her hand had passed right through it. `` GOD DAMNIT!'' she screamed and suddenly the voices became quite outside. The grim chuckled. `` You can not leave here without me''. `` I Know that!'' she bellowed. `` You think I sat in this place for 16 hours, and I never once tried to open a door or pickup a goddamn phone!'' She was away from him now and started to become irate. She walked through the garbage, trying to kick it, and knock the table over. She was doing anything to reduce the stress for a moment. Finally she rested her head against the wall next the door and started sobbing. Her spirit had died years ago and now she was simply trapped. She pounded her closed palm against the wall, but no noise was emitted. She simply dematerialized until she pulled away to hit it again and again. All of a sudden there was a ting. The soft noise of vibrating metal. The picture, the old picture of her foster sister, swung to the left and right. The Grim became alert and fierce. `` Alright, its time to go'' he said coldly. His long arm in the sleeved robe swung out and grabbed her elbow. He pulled her towards the door as his other hand swung the old oak door open. The two children outside looked in as the doorway to the empty house flew open with a satisfing creak. The flaming bag of dog waste on the porch dis-ignited with a quick whisp of smoke and steam. `` let go of me'' she yelled. Her free arm now reaching up to grab the picture. She could feel it. The copper toned metal frame rocked off the wall and into her hand. She could hardly control her body as the Grim now forcefully pulled her to him. He bent at the waist as he turned her to throw her on his shoulder. Her mind escaped the fear of the grim and instead stayed focused on the picture in her hands. She understood her stomach was on his shoulder, and her breast and arm were uncomfortable now pinned against him, but she could feel none of this, except for the picture in her hands. Then it scared her. `` wait'' she said with an unprecedented calmness, and the Grim stopped. Frozen in place, for he know the rules. The children stood up from the bushes. Their eyes where wide as they starred at the picture floating in the door way. Pale as ghosts themselves, goose bumps dotted there arms as a cool feeling coursed from the blood in their backs. They stood there frozen until the grim pounded his foot into the concrete porch and let out a loud `` BOO''. One lost a shoe in his flight. They stayed in this position for the next few minutes. Sylvia's bottom hung over his shoulder, exposed and open to the suburban street. The commotion of the boys had a few neighbors peak outside, but they could see nothing from the distance accept an open door. `` I want to go back inside'' she insisted. `` I want to look around again.'' The Grim obliged, setting her down gently now and following her into the house. She made a B-line for her stash. The little bag left would not move. The needle, the lighter, the spoon, nothing would move. She moved to the TV. She could not touch or feel it. pushing her arm into it only created a few pops and creaks from the speakers. `` Only those things which your soul has been left inside are tangible now.'' The Grim was by the door way, picking up and inspecting the scythe he had left by the door in the commotion. What does that mean she pondered. She continued rummaging the house, now touching old pictures, furniture and a few vases, but to no avail. She stared at an old painting across the room. Michael she thought. and she began moving deliberately to the painting, hanging on the wall where the stair case turned and continued upward. As she pressed against it, it resisted but then slid with a satisfying friction. She lifted the painting off the wall, reviewed it, and promptly dropped it off the banister, down onto the ground floor of the home. `` I hated that painting'' she murmured. Knowing her past, the Grim spoke up and clarified `` You where once one. You may have forgotten him long ago, but your souls came together''. An interest and peace seemed to come over Sylvia. She had avoided so much torture and pain in her life that she forgot to seek out the things she cared for and about. She rarely had time to think of herself, except when facing the bottom of a bottle or looking down a needle. So the grim waited on on patiently as she explored the home. The Neighbors, ever curious, came inside the open door, and explored the home themselves. Even their voyurism drew no interest from Sylvia who instead filtered through papers and photos she has stored away years ago. An old magazine provided some amusement to her, and as she thumbed the pages in her bedroom she could sense the sun setting through the window behind her. Inside the home, paramedics where rushing in. Yellow bags in hand, only to set them down, and speak unfamiliar words into a radio. The grim, amused now, took the opportunity to methodically toss a large set of old newspapers from the stair railing. In seeing this the paramedics excited left the house. She looked on with a smile at the Grim. She watched him chuckle as the people below fell into panic. She never imagined that death could bring her so much joy. She wanted to stay, and continue exploring this world. What would happen to her body, to her home. She envisioned it being torn down, unfit for habitation while she was alive. However, now without the stress and sadness of a future in her way, she realized it was not such a bad home. In fact it was much nicer than many of the other homes on ocean avenue. Perhaps some nice family could come and purchase it in the coming years. While she continued dreaming for the first time in years, the Grimm broke her concentration. `` We should be going now'' said the Grim. `` The mortals will come looking for you here if you stay.'' `` let me stay'' said Sylvia, contently. `` this is the most peace I have ever been allowed.'' '' Oh, but please, leave the door open this time''
[ WP ] You 've been supporting the hero since his journey began . Today is the day you betray him .	The meal was palpable, but nothing else. The mere presence of it seemed to sap at me, drawing my core further from my body. I felt hollow. -- -- -- -- -- -- Since I began traveling with him I knew his time limited. All of us - our time is limited, but his was a chord of mortality so tangible it could be felt from anywhere on heaven or earth. The others, though, are blind. They are blinder than Saul. Do not, I say, do not believe that I perceive myself to be all-seeing, but as it is said: in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. -- -- -- -- -- -- He spoke to us today - not as teacher, although it was a lesson, and not as leader, although it was with dignity and authority that he spoke, but as man. He knew of my hollowness, but he did not revoke me. To do so would be to tempt - he knows better than any the danger of doing so. -- -- -- -- -- -- I must go, this bag weighs heavily on me. -- -- -- -- -- -- They were waiting for me - they expected me. My emptiness is gone, though I wish it back. This fullness is not well, it is a sickening fullness. It is putrid and vile, but I persist. He knew of me, but did not stop me. The acts must occur in their time - though this is no play. -- -- -- -- -- -- My brothers were sleeping when we found them. I do not believe they meant to, but while the spirit is willing, the flesh was weak. It does not matter, my whole is weak. I am the link that breaks the chain. -- -- -- -- -- -- He approaches us, calming the others. One of the guards sobs over his brother - gone, long gone from loss of sustenance. He knows. He looks at me, knowing. The fullness trembles under his gaze, and flees. I see it in his eyes, he knows I am empty - barren. He knows this, and does nothing. I understand now. He sacrifices. I sacrifice. His father, sacrifices. It must be done. We have come to terms. -- -- -- -- -- -- His arms find their way to my shoulders, and mine to his. We embrace like long departed friends. Soon, we will be long departed friends. For a moment, I consider. Then, he looks at me - his eyes meet mine, and I understand. To not do so would be selfish. My lips brush past his - they meet his cheek, a final farewell, apology, and sacrifice all together in an unholy trinity. -- -- -- -- -- - I stare at the leader - his will be done. My heart aches for lost brothers, but no repentance can bring them back. I know he understood, at the end. In the garden, he knew, and he embraced. I knew who I was, and he knew I, for I was death. But by death came life - eternally, and he knew this would be true. Would I change it, if I could go back? No. Though I love him, and he me, it had to be done. -- -- -- -- -- - A coldness digs into me, tearing to my core. I draw this coldness out, ounce by ounce. All thirty now lie on the floor. I turn and leave. I have no need for these where I go. -- -- -- -- -- - The rope is coarse beneath my hands, the bough above strong and course is clear. Perhaps, I think as I fall, I sh- Then all is cold. -- -- -- -- -- -- He is there again, in the garden. We are alone. His eyes are warm, and I understand. This time, I do not pass his lips.
[ WP ] A revolution has started , all because of the death of ...	# It's a little disjointed ( and a smidgen offtrack ) as I've just sort of thrown it together and am too lazy to put in the time to make it amazing. I hope it's okay at least. Dear C., Our journey has met its end -- ours* longer than most I would say, but you were always so friendly. When we were young -- you will remember, how we struck at the tree on James' `` Wandering Hillock'' ( still brings me to laugh every time I think about that pile of `` wandering'' dirt ) with play axes we fashioned from leaves and dry sticks. Oh yes, I remember our fright. Were we to ever cut down that skinny tree and save James' from having to ever fuel the fires to the wealthy's baths and saunas and beds. Fireman. You would appreciate the irony if you were ever to ruminate on it. But, how he was so furious with us when he found we were smacking the life out of it. No harm we thought -- just kids doing kid things, trying to save him. But how he was mad. So livid that'd we'd smack his father and his investment. The only reason I write you this now is because it's my fondest memory with you. You were always the person I had my best ideas with, an amazing catalyst to me as you were to these people. And always so determined and logical, two things I never was, but of course the latter you sort of came into with age ( Vanessa, you put the coat hanger back!! ). It was always a wonder to me. Hell you even brought the flag out of me when you entered the planning room. It is this day, a month after your death, I send our men to the capitol. We are too disorderly without you and I can feel their agitation to avenge you only grows with each passing day. No, I know. It is not the plan we had imagined. We are still too short in number to fulfill our virtue and accomplish what our theocratic leaders have failed -- have tricked us! into so doing. But I am not you, and these men can not stand this no longer. We must take a stand now -- let history tell of our dedication to the cause, let it be by martyrdom, and our story and your influence. I will have Karen deliver this letter -- in torn pieces I've told her -- to the sea in which you were slain. She is the only one who is proper I feel. You did see here panties. Farewell C., -- Love, B. P.S. ( Pieces foreshadowing our epic demise you see? Yes. I'm quite dramatic. )
[ WP ] You 're dead .	I'm dead. I know I am. I was crossing the road. I heard a sound so I turned and... I died. How am I thinking? I'm dead. I hear some noise. Footsteps, maybe. I can now feel a cold breeze over my face. I open my eyes. I'm in a building, a temple, maybe? It's a simple construction but it has a tidy neatness about it I like. Should n't I be dead? There's a person looking at me. A woman. `` Put this on'' She says. She hands me some garments. `` You're naked and it's only going to get colder.'' I look down. I am naked. I'm on some kind of stone table. It's cold. I clamber off and put on the clothes. `` I do n't understand'' I say. `` Was I... in a coma?'' The woman looks at me quizzically. `` A coma? I think I know what that is but...'' she gives me a thin smile. `` You died.'' I try to say something but she interrupts. `` Listen. You'll have plenty of time to ask questions but we should start moving. The shrines are hunted by the hollow ones. They check regularly. Come. Follow.'' She beckons. We leave the shrine. We're on a hill, a grassy hill. No. It's not grass. It looks like it but it curls around my toes, as if trying to hold me in place. `` It's their corruption.'' She tells me. `` Even plants work for them, tying to trap you here so they can come and corrupt you.'' The woman ushers me on. We walk in silence for a bit. I try to think of something to ask. Where do I start? `` These'hollow ones'... what are they?'' `` Creatures corrupted by the corpse of the long dead god. Very dangerous. Wait'' She halts me, cocking her ear. I stay still. I can only hear the gentle air. Seconds later we're moving again. `` Okay.'' She says. `` I'll give you the quick version. What country were you from?'' `` England'' I reply. The woman looks thoughtful for a few moments. `` I know that place. It was called Britannia when I was alive Lux-side. What year is it for you?'' `` 2016.'' `` Gregorian?'' `` Huh?'' `` Is that 2016 of the Gregorian Calendar?'' `` I.. think so. Yes. Yeah. It is.'' `` This is useful information. Keep that to yourself. Do n't let anyone know you're Luxborn. Look, I'm not great with history or anything but here's the basics. You died. You died on Lux, you call it Terra, or Earth or whatever. You get a second life here. Everyone gets a second life. You are either born on Lux like you were, die, reincarnate here, or vice-versa. Two lands. Two planets. Sisters. Linked. If you die here... that's it. No more. Things are different here. This place is called Tenebris. People age slower here but... lot's more to kill us... DOWN!'' The last word was a quick hushed whisper. The woman practically threw me into a nearby bush. She followed shortly with cat-like elegance. She put a finger to her lip. Be quiet. And quiet I was because only moments later did a grotesque thing shuffle it's way into view. A hollow one.
[ OT ] Are you thick skinned ? Are you kind of an ass ? Post a great story here then come back later and rewrite someone else 's story to make it better .	Hopefully it's not too late to get in on this! I wrote this in response to the prompt `` Survivor's Guilt''. -- Sluuurp. The repulsive sounds of my psychiatrist stirring her greek yogurt echo maddeningly in the cell-like room where I have a daily staring contest with breakfast. Today I'm watching her, incredulous that she can be doing anything other than trying to drive me to homicide as she painstakingly prepares the white goop for ingestion. I survey the length of the table and wonder - could I spring across fast enough to take her off guard? I'd only need a minute to snap that spoon in half and drive the jagged end through her chest cavity. `` Are you aware that you are ill, Kathleen?'' She has an uncanny ability to interrupt my most violent reveries with idiotic questions. `` Ill? No I thought I was just in here for the food,'' I quip. Her beige-painted lips ( why bother putting on lipstick if it's going to look like shitty wallpaper, anyway? ) remain a flat line. Apparently anorexia is too serious a topic for a little light humor. `` This is serious, Kathleen. You have relapsed twice. It's time to send you go a long-term facility. We are confident that you would be more equipped for recovery in long-term care.'' Her words have a clipped, staccato rhythm. Just last week, Jess and I were joking that Dr. Bacall is like an undercover cyborg who has n't quite figured out how to play the part of a human being. Everything comes out in the clinical, robotic tones that I now exclusively associate with bored psychiatrists. Jess. A lump rises in my throat at the thought of my friend alive. Two days ago she was living, breathing, even cracking psych ward jokes. Twenty four hours later I watched in disbelief as she was wheeled out on a stretcher, a ghostly specter who was so pale that it was hard to distinguish her body from the white, linen sheets. I was at the other end of the ward when I heard John yell as he swung open the door to Jess' room. He was her favorite nurse, partly due to his kind nature, but mostly because of his penchant for clothing his bulging upper body in scandalously tight-fitting t-shirts. Jess would have swooned to know that her head was resting against John's chest as he held her in his arms. But I could n't see my friend in the frail figure John swung into his arms so easily; from a distance it looked like he was cradling a rag doll that was dripping blood onto the smooth hospital tile. When I saw the pool of red collecting in her doorway, I abandoned my lingering hopes. Jess had always vowed that she would escape this place and all it took was the discovery of a lone paperclip for her to keep her word. Sluuuurp. The tears welling up in my eyes dry instantly as I eye that goddamn yogurt. `` Are you going to eat that?'' I ask, more loudly than I'd intended. `` How about you?'' she says curtly, gesturing toward my meal. I had yet to notice the plate of dry toast sitting on the table beneath me. A plastic cup of dark, red cranberry juice was at its side, saran wrap clinging tightly around the top. How about you? The question rings absurdly in my ears. As if it's that simple. As if it was n't already a foregone conclusion that I simply can never eat this. It's not part of the plan. Not after they caught me the other night, doing crunches in bed - I had just reached 800 (! ) when the nurse silently padded into my room. I came to the top of a crunch before I saw her, my mouth falling open guiltily as sweat dripped onto the stiff bedding. Since then, I have not gone a moment un-monitored; Dr. Bacall decreed that the very Big Brother-ish video camera in my bedroom be kept on at all times. I fidget constantly beneath the covers in my bed as I try to guess how many calories I might be burning while I'm under the doctor's watch. It's the little victories that are the sweetest. `` The team all agrees, Kathleen - it's time you transition to long-term.'' `` You send Andrew to long-term, look what happened to him.'' Andrew had struggled with a host of disordered eating habits - restricting, binging, purging, he could do it all. He was a weak 80 pounds when they sent him away, which, he gloated quietly to me, was a new all-time low. It was n't long before I got a notice from his family. He had succumbed, passed away, gone home. Whatever you want to call it. I could n't help but think of it as winning. `` You've lost a lot of friends, Kathleen. I'm sure that's scary.'' I look up, startled. `` It is what it is.'' Of course I miss them - in 4 years in and out of treatment I have lost five friends. Five people who I'll never see again - of course it makes me sad. But, if I'm honest, it's the guilt that keeps me up at night. In those rare moments when, exhausted, I've come so close to giving up, to giving in - I was never able to lift as much as a French fry to my mouth before I was doubled over, clutching my cramping stomach. The doctors have their theories about `` psychosomatic responses to stress,'' but I know that it's so much simpler than they'd want to believe. It's the shame that has made itself at home in the recesses of my mind, greedily grabbing up territory as it reminds me I do n't deserve the handhold I have left on life. I know it's the truth, because facts are facts, and the only thing worse than grieving for a dead friend is the agony of knowing you've outlived them. Of all the labels I have worn, the one I most detest is `` survivor.'' I wo n't be another broken girl living out my days halfheartedly. I want to be like my friends. I want to be better. I want perfection. `` Kathleen, are you going to eat your breakfast?'' `` No, I'm not. You might as well get the NG tube ready.''
[ IP ] The Girl in the Library	Shiloh flips the page, looking for the very middle of the book. She skims the center, figuring it out, trying to understand this new puzzle of a book. When the plot does n't immediately come to her, she opens the flap of her leather bag and shoves the book in, heedless of the binding or who might see. The library surrounds her with the reverent hum of pages turned and keyboards gently tapped. Occasionally, a hushed murmur sways over to her as she wanders from shelf to shelf, looking for something new and avoiding the other people. Outside, the trees have shed their orange and yellow and revealed their harsher, spiky innards. Outside, the wind rushes at your face and the sun is going down. Shiloh prefers it inside the library. She turns from the window at the end of the shelves and walks back to the main lobby and the main staircase, which she climbs. Each step brings her closer to the next, quieter level of the library. On the second floor are the main reference titles and a few focused souls looking for citations. There are also two poetry rooms, a computer lab, and a spare set of bathrooms. Shiloh walks along the railed mezzanine overlooking the first floor to get to the second staircase. Her shoes clack on the laminate tiling. As she climbs, her breathing becomes more rhythmic. Step, inhale, step, step, exhale, step, inhale... At the top of the second staircase is another forest of books - a wilder forest. These trees are undisturbed and untouched in eras, many are coated in a fine layer of dust. Shiloh walks through the shelves, the library growing darker around her in the poorly maintained depths where old light bulbs have aged and died and rotted in their sockets. When she can no longer see, she counts her steps in a whisper. At the end of the corridor of shelves, Shiloh turns right. She traces the wall of books to the end, fingers thapping on ancient leather spines. In the far corner is an ancient spiral stair case and a trap door in the ceiling. She follows the staircase up and up, to the trap door and toward the furthest, dankest region of the library. Her eyes have adjusted in the dark and she looks down at you from the top of the staircase. All you can see is her shadowy silhouette and a faint glimmer in her eyes from distant desk lamps. `` Follow no further,'' she says, and her voice is only an echo. The trap door smacks shut and she is gone.
[ WP ] The Grim Reaper has a conversation with his next `` victim ''	`` It's odd, but you never really understand how a room feels until it does n't feel quite right.'' Jack said to the couch, or perhaps the loveseat. He stood in the middle of the living room, trying to remember what it felt like when this room was filled with life. `` She was n't even a permanent fixture, but it all feels so wrong without her.'' The words fell on the ears of another, but Jack was clueless. `` Silence your lamenting. Soon your pain will be gone.'' Jack froze. He was well aware that his mind had began a strange descent when Ashlee removed the last of her things, but suddenly he grew concerned that the lynch pin of his conscience had come loose. `` What is that supposed to mean?'' Jack asked aloud. `` What now is shrouded in mystery, will soon become the most calming of realizations. Please, let your feeble mind be calm.'' The words seemed to echo from the darkest spots of the room, as if the space beneath the couch were conversing with the corner Ashlee always thought needed a standing lamp. Jack slowly backed up from the middle of the room, letting his body come to rest leaning against the wall. He raised both hands, ran his fingers through his hair, letting his palms reside on his neck.Though the sudden and solemn voice perplexed him, it was clear to Jack that he still remained the only human being in the room. `` What are you?'' The words did not push strong through Jack's lips, instead they spilled slowly from his mouth and reeked of hesitation. `` Perhaps I am you. Perhaps you are I. Perhaps we are us.'' Again, the words creeped forward from spots unseen. Jack stood against the wall, both concerned yet also calm. A cool chill ran down his spine. Jack allowed his arms to creep back down to his side as he moved away from the wall. Suddenly he was struggling to remember where he had been earlier that day. `` Did I have work today?'' He wondered aloud. The words danced around the room before plummeting into the silence that surrounded Jack. `` Ah yes, your job. Where is it that you work, Jack?'' said the darkness, slowly spreading across the room. Jack stood silently for a moment, long considering his response to the vast emptiness. `` I have no idea.'' `` Do you not have a job, Jack? Why would she ever return to you if you do not even have a job?'' Jack had no response. To any onlooker, the words would have felt like an assault. Somehow, though, Jack was not bothered in the slightest. The worry and concern in his mind had seemed to have left, and he was unsure if he had ever been worried at all. That's when it hit him... `` Who is'she'?'' The question fell from his mind faster than it fell from his mouth. Before the words could echo in the slightest, they already meant nothing to Jack. In an explosion of clarity, Jack felt his body drifting through a sea of calm. `` Who are you?'' The words slowly creeped into Jack's ear. They trickled into his ear drum, collapsing and reassembling themselves as synapses fired in Jack's brain. `` I am you. You are I. We are us.''
[ WP ] Write a story about a song .	Dear Samantha, I remember when we used to stay up all night counting the falling stars. We were young back then, and bold. Now we've grown old. The dreams we dreamed of back then remained as they are, mere dreams. When we married, I promised you the world. You said that I was enough. I never thought so. I worked myself to death to provide for you and our children. I worked three jobs at one point, do you remember? I got promoted and I finally was able to give you the life that I promised you. The house in France, the yacht, and the mansion. But you left. You had enough of the habits I've developed to cope with the stress. The life I gave you imprisoned you. So I drowned in my sorrow. The life I promised you came crashing down around me. I realized that the life I gave you was n't the life we dreamed of living together. You did n't fall in love with me because I promised you the world. You did n't marry me because you knew I would be great one day. You certainly did n't marry me because of my charms. You married me because we both held the same hope- a hope of a life spent together, to the end. I was never `` good enough''. I was always the greatest part of your life. And you were mine. When you read this letter, my love, I will be no more. It feels like the right thing, even though its so wrong. But its the only way. Since you left, I've started to dream again of the life we could have had. The life we could have led if I was n't so consumed by my greed. Will you still count the falling stars even after I'm gone? Who knows, if I find mercy, I might be looking down at you. I hope this letter will find you well. I'm sorry for the troubles I've caused you. Yours forever, Jonathan
[ WP ] And the alien turned to me and said `` And so , human , now that I 've spoken of mine , tell me , what was your homeworld like , before it also was lost ? ''	`` Well, how was the planet you used to live on. I spilt the beans, now it's your turn.'' The idea of Robyn saying this in a sing-song voice was hilarious, but I had to concentrate. It was just her translator after all, badly broken following the latest fight. `` Not everyone was a mercenary like us, that's for sure. It was fly as fuck, to be honest. I mean, you did n't have to sift the water from the hydrochloric acid in the rivers. The Sabrina fusion-jets that we explored with did n't leave chemtrails a hundred miles long of thick, black smoke. I mean, we had trees! Not your fake plastic ones, real ones, made of wood!'' `` Really, u/Thomas_633?'' `` Yeah, totally!'' My brow darkened for a moment. I remembered the day when my fusion-jet had flown into the portal. In hindsight, it probably was n't the absolute best idea to fly a 20 billion dollar aircraft into a portal on a dare, but then again, Private u/Thomas_633 and Mechanised Private A1-R1 tended not to be the individuals to turn down such a proposition, even if Mainframe 43-RC9 was at 48 % of structual failure ( most were repaired at 20 %, and I really should have repaired the Sabrina earlier ) and it was a totally unknown sector. Warning: C.7/F-4 `` Sabrina'' mainframe at 74 % damage! We're going to crash you dumb fu- A torrent of swear words erupted from my mechanical colleague and I as the battered exploration craft fell from the sky, the blue droptail screaming and flickering out due to the fact we were a number of lightyears away so many it required exponential notation, and that the Sabrina was n't designed for portals anyways, that's why the Akira parent aircraft existed you idiot. My flashback finished, I returned to Robyn. Her blue fin trembled in the night-time breeze. Two more assaults, and I'd be able to afford repairs to the mainframe and return home. And I would return home. I had to.
[ WP ] You and your friend make the old drunken agreement that if either of you invent time travel , you 'll return to the current time and spot . 5 seconds after you shake on it , your friend appears from the future , with an urgent message .	As we let go of the handshake, Harry sprung up. `` Ah, fuck... These Coroñas sail right through the system...'' His voice disappeared as he entered the bathroom. A second later, he came back out, pale white in the face. `` Damn, Harry, that was quick...'' `` Nonono! It turns out that the bathroom is actually a time machine!'' `` You mean you travelled through time? But will that not create some kind of paradox when the other you comes back from the bathroom?'' Harry quickly nodded. He looked like he was about to pass out. Over his shoulder, I could see Harry from my time come back from the bathroom, as pale white as he had come out the first time. `` Oh God, I am such an idiot!'' The two Harry's exclaimed, at exactly the same time. Then they both vanished into thin air. I watched, horrified. Normally, a stressful situation would sober me up, but I just felt more drunk and uncomfortable than ever. A second ago, Harry was here. Half a second ago, there were two Harry's here. Now there was just me... Me and my beer... Me and no Harry... Harry? What a weird name. I do n't exactly remember what just happened but... I just realized it's a weird name. You know how certain names just sound wrong - Olga, for example - but then you meet a really hot girl named Olga, and you get used to it after a while? I just had that feeling... Except reverse. Almost as if I used to know a Harry. Hairy Harry. ... Hah. I look down at my beer, and notice the self-illuminating hands on my wristwatch. 11:32. Friday night. So nice and relaxing, but I really should get going. I was supposed to take my antipsychotics half an hour ago. Ah well, it's okay, as long as I do n't begin to hallucinate again.
[ WP ] When someone 's heart breaks so does a piece of our world ; this creates fissures , valleys , and even cracks in the pavement . Tell me the story behind the Grand Canyon .	I was four years old when my mother took us to the farm and I was bowled over by a seething horde of wagging tails and face-licks and pointed to the shyer one nearer the back with the light chocolate eyes in his hay-dusty face and said `` that one''. The ad in the newspaper had read `` Purebred Labrador Puppies, $ 50. No papers.'' Gleefully I got to call my dad on the car ride home and tell him about the new family addition. He took my mother's executive decision resignedly, with a hint of obligatory regret, but he'd had Black Labs on his family's farm growing up so I do n't think he really minded. We decided to name him after a silly TV character no one could pronounce or remember. When he got old enough, my dad took him to Puppy Training, and they failed. Spectacularly. Twice. He chewed hole after hole in my childhood blankie, which my mother dutifully patched until it resembled some sort of raggedy-anne construction without any of the charm. He chased the cats, until one of them bopped him on the nose with her claws not quite sheathed enough, and after that he kept a curious but very, very respectful distance. My mom nicknamed him `` pudding,'' after the color of his eyes. `` C'mere, Pudding'' she'd say to beckon him over to cradle his head in her lap, scratching his ears until his eyes closed in that expression of utter contentment only dogs feel which becomes the sole content of their existence. My brother and I preferred to yell out `` Berzerkerdog!'' when he would run in circles around us at the park. When I moved across the Atlantic for University, my dad came to visit me and we went on a mini road trip. We were talking about all sorts of things; growing up, his father, my brothers struggle with my mother and grades, the new puppy back home. `` Sometimes I still feel like I can hear the'tik tik tik, thump' he used to make at night when he would come into our room'', he said, and right away it was there in my mind like I was still home, like I was still half-asleep across the hall in my childhood bedroom. I was 17. Labs do n't usually live more than 11, 12 years and he was approaching 13. He did n't like the summer very much; the heat made him shake and pant and all he did was lie around, smelling bad like old dogs tend to do with his stomach making funny noises, but his tail still went thump-thump when we came home from school before he got up to greet us, tick-a-tick-a-tick of his claws on the hardwood floor. It was a really hot summer and he fell and hurt his leg and then it was five hours later and I was standing on the back porch not looking at the failing attempt at holding on to rationality in my dad's face, trying, trying, trying not to cry because after all he was 13 and two of our cats had already died of cancer that year so how was this anything new. Going home now means standing on the other side of the Grand Canyon looking across at what `` home'' should be, and in between is this void of what is n't there. ... Sorry, a bit off topic but I was inspired by some of the other pieces. Also, if this does not make you cry you are a cold, heartless bastard and I hate you. Thanks for reading...
A knight is sent out to slay a dragon . Unfortunately , he misheard the order . [ WP ]	`` Crying shame it is,'' muttered Andy. `` Crying shame.'' Bill and Andy had been friends since they were small, poor boys. They grew up playing together and now they would often help one another in working their lands. As the sun hung low in the sky behind them, the two men sat on a short brick wall overlooking Bill's farm. `` How long's he been at it for now?'' Andy asked. `` Ahh, about a week I'd say,'' replied Bill, frustrated and despondent. `` And why here d'ya think?'' `` Well,'' Bill mused. `` Word has it that he'd been trying in those caves over by Quickwater River for a bit.'' `` Aye?'' said Andy, who was listening intently but still with a look of confusion on his face. `` Aye. Then he was up by Dullhammer Mountain, trying there too apparently.'' `` Gods be good!'' `` Now he's here. I imagine he thinks that if this is where eggs come from then this is his best shot.'' `` You think so?'' `` Well there's not much more reasoning I could give to it Andy! Why else would he be in my damn chicken coop?'' `` And you said the King sent him?'' `` Aye well the King sent him off to do it in the first place,'' Bill spouted. `` I mean it's ridiculous, have you even heard of a dragon round these parts Andy?'' `` Nope, ca n't say I have Bill sorry,'' replied Andy. `` Then again, I ca n't say I've ever heard of a man laying an egg either.'' The two men sat in silence until the sun began to dip below the hills and the light left the sky. They parted ways and headed home, Bill praying that he'd be gone tomorrow. After all, there was n't much a farmer could do to stop a brave knight on a quest.
[ IP ] Monitor	“ I don ’ t understand how she hasn ’ t succumb yet, her willpower is….a pleasant surprise, ” Dr. Willroth stated coolly. “ Doctor we can ’ t keep this up, we ’ ve already passed the allowable human threshold and we are running short on resources. I say we call it a day. ” But the doctor couldn ’ t take his eyes off the girl who had bested the machines brainwashing techniques. Each monitor burning out before her mind ever did. He knew this was it, she would be the one to save us. “ I need to be sure… ” his voice growing with anticipation. “ If we ’ re going to place the fate of the human race in the hands of a little girl I need to know she can handle what ’ s in store for her. ” “ NO, that ’ s enough for today doctor there is no way she can handle further testing at this point. ” Dr. Willroth continued to stare through the one way glass at this small girl, a candidate he never would have admitted had it not been forced upon him by The Council. * “ Why this one? ” He thought. “ It ’ s not fair to put so much weight on something so innocent... is she really the ONLY one. ” * “ Doctor, I request to shut down the lab and continue testing tomorrow. ” “ DO YOU THINK THEY ’ LL SAY THAT TO HER ONCE SHE LEAVES THE EMP FIELD! ” The lab tech was silent. He knew the doctor was right and the progress they had made with this girl was better than anything they could ever hope for. They needed to know how much she could take. “ Do we still have the captured X8-47? ” “ That ’ s crossing the line doctor! You will not set a live enemy on to this girl! That ’ s it I ’ m done! ” The tech moved toward the emergency switch at the back of the room. THUD The pipe hit his head clean and the tech collapsed in a heap in the middle of the small room. “ This will be all on me, you won ’ t be to blame, ” Willroth whispered. “ Please God... let me be right. ” He input the release code on the T9 panel and watched the door open slowly in front of the girl...
[ WP ] After a careful analysis , NASA realizes that there is actually a Dyson sphere around the our sun . We did n't put it there .	Well, I've never participated in a WP. So here's my first ( albeit terrible ) attempt. 3:35 AM The phone starts ringing, it ’ s Angela, the supervisor of NASA ’ s exploratory engineering division. I can ’ t possibly think why any one from that EED would call me up at this late hour. They don ’ t even do any real work. The entire division is an abomination, bunch of pseudo intellectuals and engineers who believe they can anticipate future designs and technology by just running simulations and ideas by each other while wholeheartedly ignoring the actual limitations of time, costs involved as well as the real world application of their so called “ solutions ”. After a moments hesitation, I finally gather the strength to pick up the phone. Angela is being cryptic, She say ’ s that they ’ ve noticed something and it ’ s something I should take a look at before they inform the Administrator. Sigh, I couldn ’ t even get an hour of sleep. It takes me roughly an hour to reach the agency. I ’ ve never really been to the EED office so I ’ ve no idea on what to expect, it ’ s supposed to be the division where they boot you out when they can ’ t really get rid of you. The perfect division to end ones career. Angela is waiting for me right outside the security desk. We enter the lab and she instructs me to look at the data. I parse through it, it seems like a routine mission log. I ask her what exactly was the “ anomaly ”. She takes her laptop out and shows me an image of the Sun. There ’ s an object around it, roughly the size of ten voyagers. I assume this was one of the probes designed by other space agencies, recently the Indian ’ s had been sending probes to different parts of the galaxy and they ’ ve been known to be a bit errm... unique with their designs. She says that she has contacted the other agencies and none of them have any information about the object. We ask the control room to move our probe closer the object. After a few hours, we get notified that the probe is within proximity for clear imaging. The object seems to have a strange marking on its hull. It has a few symbols we can recognize, fire, explosion and a hazard sign. The other markings can ’ t be deciphered. We try to establish communications with the object, after a few minutes, we get a response. A video file sent to our probe. The video starts playing, it ’ s the milky way. I notice Earth, Mars and Jupiter from a distance. The focus turns away from the planets and takes us towards the Sun. I can see the magnificent explosions that occur on the surface of the Sun. We ’ ve never been this close to see this phenomenon, it's a truly riveting sight. The explosions intensify and after a few short moments a bright light emerges. The Sun explodes, the burst of energy is cataclysmic. It consumes all the planets and stars instantly, our civilization wiped off the universe, as if we never really existed. The video ends abruptly and after a few moments. A text file appears, it reads “ We can harvest the energy and save your civilization. For a price ”.
[ WP ] `` It surprised me how much creamer Death put in his coffee . ''	It surprised me how much creamer Death put in his coffee. I commented on it, nervously. He looked me up and down methodically, pausing at my chest. I felt my heart thumping, and the look in his hollow eyes made me realize he did, as well. `` It's too bitter as it is.'' I waited for him to elaborate but that is not something Death did. So I asked him; no one else has ever had the chance to ask what Death meant. `` I see enough black as it. I do n't need to ingest more. Whenever you're finished, we'll get started. I'm sorry, honey.''
[ WP ] You are an imaginary friend . You 've always known that you 're just a figment of your friend 's mind . Or so you thought , until a strange person acknowledged your presence and addressed you specifically .	I had always known this day was coming. I had told myself to be prepared, but I knew it wouldn ’ t be easy. Every so often, I looked down at my hands, expecting them to dissolve before my eyes. I glanced out the window, my mind turning to happy memories spent out on that lawn; the good times. No, I couldn ’ t think like this. I remembered when I first began to realize what was happening. It started when I saw a paper in his backpack, all crumpled up and forgotten. He ’ s always been a bit messy like that. Being the helpful imaginary friend that I am I pulled it out to show him. “ What ’ s this Toby? ” I asked. “ What? Oh that, ” he remarked, looking up from the comic book he was leafing-through. “ That ’ s just some dumb dance thing. It ’ s nothing. ” I read the flyer. “ Bainbrook Middle School End-of-the-Year Dance! ” was written in big, blocky letters. “ So, are you not going to go? ” I tried to hide the apprehension in my voice. “ Nah, it ’ s lame. They want you to dress up and stuff. Plus you ’ re supposed to go with a girl. ” An over-exaggerated grimace spread across his face. I had to admit I was relieved to hear that. Don ’ t get me wrong, I wanted him to have fun and all, but it was still a solemn reminder of the inevitable. “ Come on Dex, ” Toby exclaimed, jumping out of his bed energetically. He could never sit still for very long. “ Let ’ s go back to that spot on the creek and see if we can catch those weird bugs again! ” What am I worried about? I thought to myself. He ’ s only 12! Over the next week or so, however, I learned that my initial worries had been justified. The weekend after the flyer Toby told me that his best real-friend, Jerome had asked someone -- I think her name was Cindy? -- to the dance. At first, Toby was upset. “ We were supposed to watch movies in the fort that night, ” he lamented. I sat by patiently and watched him kick an over-sized, rubber soccer ball against the garage. I was happy to be there for him during times like that. Letting him vent to me was one of my most essential duties. Then something odd happened. The next day, when he came home from school, he seemed to have gotten over it. Well, it seemed that at the very least something new was bothering him more. The problem was, he wouldn ’ t tell me. This had never happened. We were buds, best friends, he told me everything. Even the things he hadn ’ t told Jerome; like that one time he wet his sleeping bag at Jerome ’ s house and had to pretend the dog did it. What was so bad that he wasn ’ t even telling me? I would describe his mood over the next few days as “ brooding ”. He didn ’ t really talk to anyone; it wasn ’ t just me he was ignoring. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the cloud surrounding him lifted. He was happy again, cheerful even. But he still wasn ’ t really himself. Finally, he confided in me. “ Dex! Guess what, ” he proposed conspiratorially. “ What is it? ” I asked attentively. I was just excited that he was talking to me again. “ You remember that dance thing we were talking about? ” “ The lame one where they make you dress up? ” I teased. I was really just trying to hide my unease for what was coming next. Toby swiped his hand through the air, as if to erase his previous words. “ Eh it ’ s not that bad. If you ’ re going with someone that is. ” A deep pit opened up in my stomach, sucking into it all he said after that about who she was and how he had asked her and how she was cool, “ for a girl ”. If my face betrayed my feelings, Toby didn ’ t notice. He seemed too euphoric. During the days after that, I had watched the excitement grow and mix with nervousness. Toby ’ s mom was thrilled about her boy ’ s first dance and had made a fuss of all the arrangements. I watched him try on suits. I was proud; how can you not be when your boy is growing up? But I had known what was coming. Now, it was the day I dreaded. I wandered over to the stairs. I could hear the hum of anticipation mixed with the click of a camera coming from below. I looked over from the top at the makeshift flower arch Toby ’ s mom had put together in the foray. That woman could really make a fuss. I sighed and went back to the door of Toby ’ s room. I slumped against the wall dejectedly. This was bittersweet for me; Toby was growing up, becoming a young man. I smiled at the thought of him going through puberty, getting married, having kids of his own. A solitary tear slid down my cheek. I wouldn ’ t be there to see any of it. “ Want to color? ” a small voice sounded above me. At first I ignored it; Toby ’ s voice was the only one that ever addressed me. It came again: “ Coloring always makes me feel better. ” I looked up. I realized I had been sobbing into my hands. Standing before me, in tight braids and a flowered dress, was Toby ’ s little sister Emily. Overwhelmed with all that had happened that day, my mouth could only hang open in shock and confusion. “ Come on, ” said the little girl. She reached out and grabbed my hand. “ I have just the thing. ” Led by the hand, I followed my new companion to her room.
[ WP ] Iron is the only element that suppresses magic . Earth is unique in having an iron core , and humans are alone in the universe by having red blood .	Humans were Jews. When planets were discovered and magic was proven true, there was only one thing the species of magic could have and should have possibly done. Wage war. They colonised developing planets, breathed in the nothingness of space, and hauled their magical bretherin to extinction. Magic slaved during those days. Magic was branded by a big red swastika. But the Humans, they could never truly purge. Humans were the untouchables. Humans were the Jews to the Nazi Magic. Iron in their planet's core, iron in their own cores. Blood as red as dark red roses, and as unlikable and undefeated as a rose's stem. Magic hated humans as much as it feared the Humans. The Nazi Magic screamed for approval to purge the filthy Red Bloods. Aliens, discovering Earth, ripped each other apart just to reach it. They broke through humanity's barriers, emulating the Night of the Broken Glass. An iron core could be mined, they thought. An iron core could cut through magic like a hot knife through butter. But they could not cut out the butter for themselves, without stabbing themselves in the process. When their drills of magic reached the core, Magic screamed Bloody Mary. Humans are smart, quick and adaptable. They proved their worth and made their hot butter knives out thick, pure iron. They made their knives, and the Jews striked back. They drove aliens into camps. They had their Munich Agreement, and yet invaded a magic Poland. They cornered little girls' rooms as they wrote in their diaries. A swastika burned into their red iron blood. The Humans were Jews. And now, they are Nazis. Nazis wielding hot butter knives. Magic cowers in fear. Sieg Heil to the Red Bloods. Seig Heil.

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